The Open Way
by Oberon Sexton
Summary: AU: Robert's Rebellion has been crushed and the Targaryen dynasty continues to reign supreme, yet the Game of Thrones never changes...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**OSWELL **

He woke to the creak of a chamber door.

His head was cloudy with sleep; eyes squeezed shut, his dream still on the fringes of his mind. The padding sound of little feet came up beside his bed, and Oswell tried to make himself appear dead to the world. How many hours did he sleep since he finished his duty? His body was weak with exhaustion.

"Wake up!" a childish voice urged from beside him. The sound only made him bury his face deeper into his pillow, the remnants of his dream fading fast. "It's _morning!"_

Oswell gave a groan of annoyance and pulled the blanket over his head, hoping that would be enough of a message to the child. There was a silence, but he could still feel the child's presence. _By the Gods, can't a man sleep? _ He was supposed to be abed for another three hours yet. _And standing around in heavy armour isn't exactly easy on the shoulders…_

"We're having Lamprey Pies," the girl said, trying to urge him awake.

He opened one bloodshot eye and peaked out at the Princess. Daenerys was standing there in her lavender dress, staring at him expectantly and Oswell felt his resolve weaken. _Damn those big eyes…_ "Alright Princess," he groaned miserably. "I'll be up in just a moment."

Oswell looked up at his chamber's ceiling, staring at it with half-closed eyes, unable to make any of his muscles move much. _Waking up,_ he decided, _is a lot like crawling out of a bog of mud in full plate armour._

"You'll fall asleep again Ser," the child complained.

He sucked in a breath through his nose and exhaled it through his mouth before throwing the covers from his bed and putting his feet on the floor, face in his hands, rubbing the sleep away. He turned to look at the princess who was still standing near the foot of his bed, staring at him. "How did you get here? Why aren't you with your mother?"

The little princess gave him a frown. "Mother was being boring," she said, as if that answered everything. "So I came to see if you wanted to come down to breakfast."

Not for the first time, Oswell found himself wondering why he had ever chosen to get involved with the royal family in the first place. _Oh that's right,_ he remembered bitterly._ I thought being glorified across the realm would be a good laugh._ If this was glory, why did it taste like tedium? He did not feel particularly glorious, being led around by a five year old. He felt irritated and tired.

_And sore. _Every muscle in his body ached, and his neck gave an awfully loud crack as he turned his head one way and then the other. He had been pushing himself hard in the precious moments he had when not on duty, spending his time sparring and training and urging himself on until his whole body hardened with aches. Just thinking of it made him wince, but he kept at it, every day. _ 'A Knight of the Kingsguard is a sword and like all swords he needs to be honed,'_ Ser Gerold had once told him, and it was a lesson he had not forgotten.

Oswell slowly stood up and rolled his shoulders to get the stiffness out, and then grabbed a tunic from the pile that sat beside his bed and slipped it on. He was still wearing the breeches of last night, but could not find the energy to find better attire when his current wears would serve. He washed his face in a nearby basin, allowing the cold water to remove the last inches of sleep from his mind.

He turned to Daenerys. The little princess was busy admiring his helm, tracing around the bat wings with her finger. It occurred to him that Rhaegar had a similar look whenever he was examining a book he had not read. _Though this child's eyes are softer than Rhaegar's,_ he noticed. _And they lack the deep sorrow. _ As long as Oswell had known the king he had been unusually sombre, a trait that his siblings did not share. "Princess," he asked, "Are we ready to go?

Her hand quickly drew away from his helm at the sound of his voice. "Yes, I think mother will be missing me." She watched him as he grabbed his sword from its place against his bed. "Do you need to take that with you everywhere, Ser?"

"Oh yes," he replied without much enthusiasm as they left the chamber. "I am practically married to it."

The little Princess looked up at him as though he had grown a second head. "But why would the Septons marry you to a sword?"

"A jape princess," he said with a faint smile as his eyes flicked about the corridor for threats, an old habit that he could not shake even when not on duty.

With Dragonstone so crowded, Oswell could not hope that he and the princess would be disturbed by any jabbering fools. On their way to the Great Hall they found Lord Paxter Redwyne and Mace Tyrell quietly discussing some matter. As soon as they caught sight of the princess they stopped and exchanged pleasantries with her. It was strange to see the Fat Flower so far from the capitol and stranger still to see him actually excited about it. He and Redwyne both gave a bow. "How are you today my princess?" Tyrell asked with a pleasant grin.

Daenerys gave a perfect curtsey. "I am well, thank you my lords."

The two lords chatted away with the child, walking by her side as they made their way towards the Great Hall. All the while Oswell stayed just a few steps behind, watching all and hearing nothing. _That's right my lords, continue to simper and bow to a five year old. Winning favour with a child will do you no good. _

The doors of the Great Hall loomed up in front of them, fashioned in such a way that one literally had to enter through the dragon's mouth. The hall itself was warm like dragonfire, the sky outside was unusually clear and the sun shone through the windows, illuminating all the guests who had gathered for breakfast.

_And what a gathering it is._ Lady Rhaella had gathered together all the lords on the Narrow Sea sworn to Dragonstone, Lords Hayford, Massey and Farring of the Crownlands, a handful of Reach lords that had accompanied Tyrell and Redwyne, and even some Northmen. _And all for Prince Viserys' name day,_ he didn't believe it for a moment. _None of these men give a fig about some boy's celebration, or least not enough to travel all the way to Dragonstone._

If Prince Viserys was concerned about so many strange people attending his name day, then he gave no indication. The young prince smiled at everyone and everything, looking like a thinner version of his older brother. To his right sat his mother, who was murmuring something to lord Bar Emmon, and to his left sat his nephew prince Jon, who was sitting in solemn silence as everyone else around him chattered about. Ser Barristan stood guard, giving Oswell the slightest of nods as he walked in with the princess and the two lords.

"Daenerys!" called the Queen dowager. "Where have you been child?"

The little girl was shooed over to a seat on the dais beside her nephew whilst Mace Tyrell went to exchange courtesies with Lady Rhaella. Oswell, feeling oddly rejected, walked over to Ser Barristan and took up a place beside him, eyes facing the royal family and scanning for any sign of danger. They didn't talk, Kingsguard never spoke to one another whilst protecting their charge, but there was a silent welcome from the older knight and Oswell felt himself relax just a little bit.

The guests broke their fast on honeycakes baked with blackberries and nuts, gammon steaks, bacon, autumn pears, and a Dornish dish of eggs cooked up with fiery peppers. There were flagons of milk and flagons of mead and flagons of light sweet golden wine to wash it down. Musicians walked about piping and fluting and fiddling, much to the delight of the younger guests in attendance. Oswell watched them all carefully, trying to see any hint of danger among them. The thought brought the vaguest hint of a smile to his lips. _Even battered and bruised I could still carve any foe in two before they got near the children._

When the food had been cleared away it had been time for gifts. Usually such things were done with more grandiosity, but the Queen clearly had something else planned for her second born. The lords Celitgar and Velaryon both presented the prince with swords of dazzling make and beauty, whereas Bar Emmon brought forth several books dating back from the time of the Old King. "These were given to my family by King Jaehaerys, your noble ancestor. It is my privilege to return them to you my prince."

"Books are just as valuable as swords," the prince announced dutifully, his eyes occasionally flicking over to the Queen Dowager for reassurance.

Mace Tyrell waited until last to present Viserys with his name day gift: a dazzling suit of armour as black as polished onyx, the mail was a dark crimson, finely wrought, upon the chestplate the three-head dragon of House Targaryen stood out, encrusted with rubies much like the one Rhaegar wore at the Trident. The helm was no less dazzling; with its curved dragon wings that looked half like horns and a visor that was carved and designed in such a way that it resembled a snarling beast where the wearer's mouth was. The prince looked like he was about to burst with excitement.

_Dragons, _thought Oswell with a stifled laugh. _Even Rhaegar in his wisdom was not immune to the call their image had on his family._ He watched them continue to babble on like trained ravens for some time, wondering if Ser Barristan was feeling as bored as he was.

Eventually Prince Viserys rose, looking the picture of Targaryen gallantry and with a smile that would send many a maiden swooning. He thanked all the lords that had come to celebrate his name day, promising them that he would not forget such kind gestures. _Rhaella's words coming from his mouth, _Oswell noted. _She has the boy trained well. _

The Queen Dowager rose as well, smiling benevolently at her son. "The King has given you a gift as well my son," she announced happily. "It is sitting in port just outside this very castle, _Vermax's Flame_, all for you."

There was a collective cheer and barrage of compliments thrown in Viserys direction, and Oswell could practically feel the lords trying to suck at the Prince's favour. He kept his disdain covered underneath a blank stare.

"Let us see this grand vessel!" called one lord.

"Aye, it must surely be a thing of beauty!" called another.

Viserys turned to his mother pleadingly, looking more a child than a young man of three and ten. The Queen smiled at him and gave her consent. With a broad grin he scooped up his squealing sister and with a cheer led the procession out of the hall towards the docks. A silent signal had been given, and the two members of the Kingsguard moved from their places to follow them, yet a soft hand on Oswell's arm stayed him. He turned to see the Queen Dowager staring at him with a benign smile.

"Would you be so kind to wait a moment Ser Oswell?" she asked, purple eyes shining. "I'm sure Ser Barristan can keep my son from too much trouble, for five minutes at least."

Oswell bowed. "As you wish, Your Grace."

"You are not at rest," she observed.

_Though I ought to be,_ he reflected with more than a little bitterness. "The princess had other notions," he confessed. "For some reason she felt my presence necessary."

"And you let yourself be cowed by a child?" She gave a knowing smile and leant back against the table of the dais. "If she can charm great knights at the age of five, she'll have the entire kingdom wrapped about her little finger at five and _ten_."

_And you will have the girl wrapped around your finger, won't you my lady? _ The Queen had been a dutiful woman during the reign of King Aerys, but Oswell was no fool to think that she had no mind for politics. "A gift she shares with all of her royal siblings; Prince Viserys composed himself quite well in front of such noble guests."

Rhaella rolled her eyes. "Viserys has had enough time to learn the ways of court, but he still…" the Queen Dowager trailed off, and her face fell into a slight frown as she looked down. Oswell's eyes followed her and saw the young prince Jon clutching to her skirts.

"Grandmother," he said in his tiny, solemn voice. "They all left without me."

Ser Oswell always found himself staring at King Rhaegar's second son. _It is for you that Seven Kingdoms bled_, he wanted to say, but that was not fair and he knew it. Rhaegar had whisked away the Stark girl and married her in secret under the notion that she would birth him another princess for his damned prophecy, and Oswell had helped him do it. All the while war and devastation broke out in their absence, staying at some cursed tower in Dorne. _And for what? Lyanna Stark died_ _and Rhaegar did not get the daughter his dreams told him of. _ Jon Targaryen was a living reminder of Rhaegar's folly and for that the king would not have him in the capitol.

Rhaella however, loved the child fiercely. "Never mind the others sweetling," she cooed. "Why don't you go read one of Viserys new books, I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

With a gentle nudge, the boy gave one last look at the two adults and went over to the table, sitting down on the steps of the dais and opened one of the books. Despite the overwhelming colouring of his mother's house, Oswell noted that the prince had some of Rhaegar in him. _It's the eyes, _he realised. _The boy has his father's sad eyes…_

"The prince does not seem to struggle with his letters," The Kingsguard noted.

Rhaella had the smallest of smiles on her face as she watched her youngest grandchild. "He takes after Rhaegar in that," her eyes moved up to meet his, her maternal pride swallowed under a mask of cold courtesy. "But then, you know my son well do you not?"

"Yes," he gave an artless shrug. "The King and I are friends, that is no secret."

"Rhaegar is loved by many, but he has few friends." The Queen's eyes were sharp, more so than they had ever been when her husband was alive. "So tell me Ser, why would he send one of the few people he can trust away from court?"

_If only you knew the half of it. _ He looked at the Queen evenly. "I was not sent, Your Grace, I asked to come."

The Queen threw back her head and chuckled at that, it was an oddly musical sound. "And why in the world would you willingly choose to exile yourself here to my humble isle? Surely there is greater honour to be found in King's Landing, and Ser Barristan manages just fine protecting us from non-existent assassins."

He took his time answering her, and instead looked over at Jon. Oswell had been there the day that Lyanna birthed him, killing herself in the act. Ser Arthur tended to the child, and Ser Gerold frightened the midwives into silence, but it was Oswell who heard the lady's last words as she bled out. _'His name is Jon,'_ she whispered in a strangled voice. _'Promise me he'll be kept safe, promise me…"_ As of late he had thought on those words often.

After a time he blew out a sigh. "The King commanded me to watch over his youngest child once," he turned back to the queen. "He may not have known that it would be another son, but he commanded me to protect him. Duty compels me to uphold my oath, even if the King has forgotten."

"You served my son over his father," she pointed out. "Even though Aerys was your lawful king you chose to conspire with Rhaegar rather than stay loyal."

_And I kept silent when Aerys choked to death,_ he added silently. They all knew it was Elia Martell and her Dornish handmaidens who poisoned the king once they knew Rhaegar's victory over the rebels was certain. Each and every man in the Kingsguard knew, and yet they never spoke the words aloud, as if by not saying the truth could make it go away. "That was for the good of the realm," he said quietly. "I am not here to spy on you, my Queen."

There was a moment of utter silence as Rhaella regarded him with her piercing purple eyes. There was more life and fire in them now than he had ever seen during the time she served as Queen rather than simply the Queen Dowager, a dragon awakened after so long dormant. Finally the smallest of grins appeared across her face and she leant forward slightly, voice lowered to a whisper. "How would you like to serve the realm yet again?"

Before he could answer, she turned and went over to collect Jon. "Come sweetling, let us go see Viserys new ship."


	2. The Choice is Yours

**A/N: Big thank you to everyone who left a review, they keep me inspired!**

** RICHARD**

A heavy wind blew through his hair, as soft as a lover's caress. He could hear birds calling, and smell the flowers in bloom, their scent overpowering everything else. After so long in the stench of King's Landing, the world and its open air was so sweet that Richard Lonmouth felt as though he had been touched by the divine. _I'll need all the help I can get,_ he thought soberly.

Despite his pleasant surroundings, Richard could not bring himself to feel entirely at ease. _The King has put his trust in me;_ he told himself whenever he felt his resolve weaken, like a prayer. It had been hard riding for the last few days and Richard had not thought to bring any skins of wine for the journey, something that he was greatly regretting. _It was for the best,_ he reminded himself._ My head needs to be clear for this, elsewise it could very nearly be my life._

"Do you think he's made it back to Stokeworth, Ser?" asked his squire, and sole companion, Bryce Caron.

Richard took a moment, considering the woods around them, the stoniness of the ground below them, and then turned to his squire. "I think not," he gestured to the particularly rough path that lay ahead of them, all tree roots and sharp rocks. "He'd have to dismount like we have to get through this drudgery. I'd say he's less than a day ahead of us, and perhaps three days from reaching the castle."

Manly Stokeworth had been a loyal and efficient commander of the City Watch throughout the reign of King Aerys, and until recently had served Rhaegar just as leally. That was before the man killed three people and fled the city in a mad rush. Richard had been shocked as the rest of the court when he heard of the man's actions, and from his own experience with Stokeworth the commander had come across as dutiful and unassuming. _And then he opened up the bellies of three hapless knights and left another a cripple..._

Not an hour later Richard was called before the King and given the task of bringing Stokeworth to justice, a task he readily accepted. Lord Connington offered to lend him thirty Gold Cloaks, but in the end Richard had refused and took only Bryce, in part because he would move faster with fewer men, and also because he misliked the idea of riding with warriors who had once served under the madman.

"Mayhaps his horse broke a leg," suggested the boy as they slogged on through the thick forest.

"Mayhaps," he replied. "But not likely, he'll have left it behind before attempting to progress."

The boy hummed in acknowledgement and continued on, heavy gear hung over his back and nary a word of complaint. _He's a good lad,_ Richard thought. _He'll make a fine knight someday._ It still felt like only yesterday when he was the squire and Rhaegar the one to give him the gift of knighthood. _Have I known a happier day?_ He thought not.

They continued on in contented silence for hours more, until finally the sun had lowered to the horizon and the air began to cool as the sun dipped below the tops of the trees. Richard felt gooseflesh prickling his arms and decided that they'd gone as far as they could that day. He found an elm that hung down just enough to provide a barrier against the chill and with Bryce sat down to make camp.

" Fire?" the boy asked, looking hopeful.

"Not tonight lad," he sighed. "Such light might give us away, and who knows what Stokeworth would do if he knew we were following him."

The boy looked at him dubiously for a moment. "Is he really such a warrior? They said he'd gone mad."

"Madness doesn't always dull a man's skill at battle," he thought of the things he had seen on the Trident, the way men would carve into each other's flesh whilst themselves bleeding to death. It took a considerable force of will to not shudder. "Sometimes madmen are the deadliest foes you'll face."

"What will you do when you find him?"

_The one question I'd hoped not to be asked tonight._ He wanted to be absent of thought when it came to delivering Rhaegar's justice, and knew that if he allowed himself to be consumed by the morality of his actions then his life would be forfeit. _Hesitation, _he told himself, _is an invitation to disaster…_

Richard sat with his back against the elm and took out some salted beef, took a small bite and considered his answer as he chewed. "It all depends on the man. If he does not give me any cause and comes with us peacefully, then he'll not be harmed. King Rhaegar is a merciful man; he will likely give the man the choice to take the black."

"But what if you can't reason with him?" the boy asked, looking worried. "Will you kill him?"

"I'll do what I have to."

Silence fell over their tiny camp after that, both of them chewing on their strips of salted beef in contemplation. The trees were bright with moonlight, and the sky was cloudless and speckled with stars. Richard did not want to want to spend such a good night brooding over dark possibilities. "How has your father been keeping Bryce? Does he write often?"

The squire gave a small chuckle. "Once every turn of the moon, though he writes enough to fill a library."

"Misses you does he?" the thought made Richard smile.

Bryce unsheathed his sword, a small but well-made length of steel with an intricate pommel inlaid with nightingales. "He had this gave this to me the day I left Nightsong, perhaps to vain a weapon for a simple squire, but it always reminds me of him."

Richard's own father had been just as proud when it was announced that he would squire for the crown prince, almost as excited as Richard himself. The old man had wept the day Rhaegar laid his sword on his son's shoulder and proclaimed him a knight. Richard had wept too, though only later when out of sight from all others. He was certain that it had all been a dream, in a way it still felt like a dream. _ So much has changed…_

He looked at the boy sitting with him. Bryce was younger than Richard was when he took up the duties of squire, a young lordling from the Stormlands with so much ambition and hopes. He could see it all reflected in his squire, like looking into a mirror through time. _I will teach him the arts of battle, the same as you taught me, Rhaegar. He is a good lad, and might be one day he'll make a better knight than either of us._

The next day he woke to the sound of crow squawking from above. The sun had only just risen, bathing the sky in hues of gold and purple and slowing reviving the world. Bryce was lying curled up beneath his cloak, snoring slightly. Richard leant over and gently shook him awake. "Up you get. We need to get moving."

The boy rose quickly enough, rubbing his eyes. "What about breakfast?"

"We'll eat as we go."

They moved quickly in the early light, the morning just cold enough to keep them sharp. The further they travelled the stonier the ground beneath them seemed to get and it was all they could do to not hurt themselves. Richard had chosen to wear his armour this day, despite the long trek on foot and the added weight. Manly Stokeworth was near; he could feel it with every inch of his being.

As they pushed on Richard began to think all the unsavoury thoughts that he had tried to deny for the last few days and by the gods did he need a drink. _ Ah yes, that solves everything doesn't it?_ Back before the Rebellion Richard had lived a clean life, allowing himself few vices. He rarely whored, rarely drank, and always made sure to practice with his blade every day. He even prayed every morning to the Seven so that he might better fulfil his vows. That was the effect Rhaegar had on most men, he knew. Rhaegar made men feel the need to be better than they were, and for a long time Richard had been a great knight.

Everything changed at the Tourney of Harrenhall. Rhaegar had begun to share his thoughts less and less with Richard and his other former squire, Myles Mooten. Even Lord Connington noted the change in the prince's nature, and the man was one of his closest confidants. Richard, in the absence of his prince, had spent much of the tourney conversing with his fellow Stormlanders, especially his liege lord Robert Baratheon. _ What a fool I was,_ he silently chided himself. The heir of Storm's End had proven to be a toxic influence, charismatic and jovial, always pushing Richard into more and more. Over those ten days Richard found himself drinking more and paying less attention to his vows. In truth, he was happy during that time and felt unburdened by all. _It didn't take long for that shallow façade to fall away._

Towards the end of the tourney, when the Knight of the Laughing Tree had somehow incited King Aerys' wroth, things had gotten even worse. Rhaegar hardly spoke to anyone but for Arthur Dayne, whilst the King raged, so in the end Richard had taken it upon himself to try and cool Aerys temper. He failed, of course, and Rhaegar had finally stirred himself to resolve the matter. Richard desperately wanted to prove himself to both father and son, but in the end it was not to be and whilst in his cups had taken Robert Baratheon's advice and danced with one of the pretty maidens, and at the time Barbara Bracken was agreeable to his company. When the dance was done he led her up to his chambers and took her maidenhead. By the time the tourney was over she was but a distant memory.

_I was a craven, _he thought with as much disgust and self-loathing as he could muster. _I should have married her and not left her to face her father's anger and her mother's shame…_

The war against Robert had given him some reprieve from his own dilemmas, but even after all the years since Richard hadn't been able to shake his love for the drink. _I am never drunk when on duty_, he reminded himself. _I may be a poor man, but I will not be a poor knight. _

He was shaken from his musings by Bryce cursing to himself. When he looked into the clearing just on the horizon he spotted a dozen mounds of crumbled battlements and structures, the last remains of some small outpost or keep rendered to rubble by battles long gone or corroded by time.

"What are they?" Bryce asked with boyish curiosity.

"Remains of an old keep," Richard said, slowing down. "They're probably leftovers from Harren the Black's time, the mad bastard had control of the Iron Isles, the Riverlands and had his eyes set on the Crownlands."

As they made their way towards the edge of the woods, Richard stopped his squire up and pushed him over to an ancient oak. He gave one long look at the hill and the ruins that littered it, seeing how the stones were larger than a man. They provided plenty of cover from onlookers, and the hill itself was high enough that anyone who approached could be spotted before they made it even half way. _He might be watching for trouble even now…_

"Right," he told the boy. "We're going to stay in this spot until it gets darker, and then I'm going to make my way up there."

Bryce's eyes shot wide open. "He's there? You saw him?"

"I didn't see him, but he's there." His face pressed into a frown. "You remember what I told you? If I'm gone longer than an hour….then I've been killed. You turn around and go back the way we came, _exactly_ the way we came. Our mounts will still be at the Inn, I'm known to the keeper-"

"-I could come with you!" the boy cut in. "I could help you, two men are better than one and you've seen me fight."

Richard couldn't help but smile at the boy's bravery. "Aye, you're a good fighter, but Stokeworth has felled three men, and I need someone to tell the king what happened here should I fall." He squeezed the boy's shoulder. "I trust you to do this for me lad."

Disappointment was plain on the boy's face, but he gave a reluctant nod in the end. They sat down by a felled tree and peered over its rotted bark at the hill. There was little movement, and less sound. The place looked as bereft of life as the king who had built on it, even as hours passed and the light grew dim. _Was I wrong?_ The doubts began to fester in his mind like an undressed wound, until he caught sight something among the rocks, a shine of sunlight on steel. _Got you…_

The sun had finally hit the horizon, and as dusk fell upon the world Richard made his move. With the thousand shadows that sprung from every tree and rock, coupled with the lengthy grass he managed to slowly make his way towards the hill crawling on his belly. It was hard work, with all the chainmail wearing him down, and slow going, but he felt a level of security. Surprise would be his biggest ally.

Rocks littered the hill top, like jagged teeth in a smashed face. A man in dull armour, and a faded golden cloak was sitting pressed up against the remnants of some fallen wall; his sword was across his lap. His appearance was haggard, his eyes brown bruises within the hollows of his sunken face, the grey beard at his jaw messy and dishevelled. When he saw Richard he jumped to his feet and raised his sword.

"S-stay back!" his voice was a hoarse rumble, his eyes dancing about madly.

Richard raised his hands peacefully. "There doesn't need to be any trouble Manly, I've not intention or desire to hurt you unless you give me cause."

"You'd best be on your way then," he muttered, eyes wild. "I'm not going back, not ever."

"Be reasonable Manly, you've done terrible things." Richard's gaze was steely. "You _murdered_ three men. You broke the King's peace; one way or another you're coming back with me."

"The King's _peace?"_ Stokeworth's mouth twisted in anger. "The King himself broke that peace when he led us all to war, and I have heard what he plans, on duty I heard. You serve a madman who would doom us all to chaos and bloodshed."

"Put away your steel," Richard told him. "And Rhaegar will give you a fair trial when we return, he is a merciful lord. You may be granted your life."

Stokeworth laughed. "Take the Black like the traitor Ned Stark? Freezing my arse off at the end of the world whilst my children live as hostages? I think not. I will return to my lands and see that the truth is revealed about your mad king."

"Rhaegar is many things but he is not mad." Ser Richard moved closer to the man. "Is that your final choice?" This time he put his hand on the hilt of his longsword. "If that is how you desire then so be it."

The two men were of a height, but Stokeworth was three stone heavier and made of less chivalrous stuff. Stokeworth was a trained killer not a tourney knight; he would not do things with propriety. With a sword in his hand and his foe before him, Richard breathed in and out slowly as he circled.

Stokeworth was fast, blazing fast, as quick as any man Ser Richard had ever fought on and off the tourney field. In his big hands, the sword became a whistling blur, a storm of steel that came at Richard from everywhere at once. The knight jumped back, parrying, but Stokeworth followed, pressing the attack. No sooner did Richard turn one cut than the next was upon him.

The swords kissed and sprang apart and kissed again. Richard found himself smiling. _This gives me purpose,_ he thought. _Here, there is no room for demons or haunted memories. There is only my blade and his._ He blocked the blows calmly, his longsword meeting each slash and turning it aside.

High, low, overhand, he rained down steel upon Stokeworth. Left, right, backslash, swinging so hard that sparks flew when the swords came together. Stokeworth cursed and turned a high cut into a low one, slipping past the knight's blade for once, only to have his blow scrape uselessly off a steel greave. Richard's answering slash found the former commander's left should, slipping through a joint of his armour and biting the flesh beneath.

The dance went on. He pinned Stokeworth against a boulder, cursed as he slipped away, and followed him through the maze of rubble. Steel rang, sang, screamed, sparked and scraped, and they were both grunting with effort. Stokeworth was wearing down. Richard could see it in his eyes; the doubt, anger, and the beginnings of fear.

"It is not too late to throw down your sword. Yield."

Stokeworth came on again, screaming as an answer. His blade slashed low, high, low again. Richard blocked the cuts to and neck, and let his armour stop the rest whilst his own blade took the man's ear from his head. The former commander howled in pain and blood welled from his wound.

Richard kept his guard up. "I'll ask you again, yield and this need not be your end."

The other man spat a wad of blood, and backed off slightly huffing up a lung. "Your king plans to bring war to the Seven Kingdoms, I would rather die now trying to put an end to it than live through another rebellion."

"Yield."

"Die," spat Stokeworth as he struggled to lift his blade up for another attack. His form was slow and forced and that was all the chance Ser Richard needed. He slashed across the man's unprotected throat, spurting out a crimson mist. Stokeworth brought a mailed glove to his throat, eyes wide with shock. Blood bubbled out and by that point the battle was done and the man toppled over into the dirt.

Richard took a few shaking steps back, and almost collapsed against a nearby block of stone. His breaths were heavy and fast, sheen of sweat covered his head, his eyes squeezed shut. He felt lightheaded, drunk. _I'm alive,_ he told himself. _I'm alive…_

After several long moments he opened his eyes and forced himself to look upon the corpse he had just made. Lying face first in the dirt surrounded by a crimson stain, Manly Stokeworth looked no longer human. Richard couldn't help but cry at the sight of it. _He was a man, but I made him into a thing._

The dead man's words still echoed through his head, over and over. Words of Rhaegar starting a war, words of chaos and rebellion, they gave him a chill. _Ravings _of_ a madman, _he told himself. He wanted nothing more than to climb down, return to his squire and ride back to King's Landing where he could lose himself in his cups, but he still had work to do. He eyed the corpse again. _I must have proof._

With the taste of bile in his throat, Richard brought his sword down.


	3. Other People's Children

**A/N: As always, thank you to everyone who left a review.**

**ASHARA**

The invitation was a casual occurrence, one that hardly needed to be voiced, but one that Ashara Dayne had been excited by nonetheless. _A night of quiet enjoyment away from the court is just what I need. It seems like it's been so long since me and Elia have had a moment of peace to just be friends without all the courtesy and prying eyes._

Despite the years in advance she had to get used to the idea of Elia as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, it was an adjustment that Ashara struggled with often. She had never been one for formality, and more than once had nearly driven her Septa mad with outrage, but even those accustomed to her nature were stunned by how casual she was with the Queen, something which got people talking. _And people talking about you is not something you want in King's Landing; _ If there was one thing that years had court had taught Ashara, it was that attention was often a bad thing.

Compared to many others Ashara did not have it so bad, her friendship to the Queen and her brother's role within the Kingsguard affording her a level of security from the more unseemly schemes that were hatched within the walls of the Red Keep. But even then, there was only so much Arthur could do for her and when it came to matter regarding the King himself Arthur always had to cede to the man he had sworn an oath to.

When the appointed night arrived, another member of the Kingsguard came for her_._ The sight of Ser Jaime Lannister standing at her threshold made Ashara's breath catch ever so slightly. In his dazzling white armour, golden hair falling down by his finely carved face, he looked a vision of some knight of old come to greet her into the afterlife. _How closely does he hold to his vows?_ She wondered silently as she regarded him. "Ser Jaime," she said finally, "So good of you to come."

There was a twitch of a smile on the young knight's face. "It's always a pleasure my lady. Shall we?"

"Lead on."

He took her arm and led her towards the steps. Ashara found a warmth spread through her as they walked together, his hand gentle on her arm. She wondered what she could get him to do with that hand.

"What's news among the Kingsguard?" she asked casually, pressing up against the young knight slightly. "Have you killed any brutal bandits lately?"

"Afraid not," Ser Jaime laughed. "And besides, your brother would probably have them all slain before the rest of us even unsheathed our swords."

_He still worships Arthur,_ Ashara realized. It was something that she had seen many times before when suitors came to Starfall; men of all shape, size and age practically grovelled at the feet of the Sword of the Morning. Ser Jaime was little better, or rather, he was, having been knighted by Arthur himself and striving to be just as great as her beloved brother.

"I have heard rumour that there is to be a tourney soon, Ser." She told him, leaning over to whisper in his ear. "Will you compete?"

Instead of answering her he just stared into her eyes, his face only inches away, his breath warm against her face. Then a smile broke out and he continued walking. "I suppose I shall, my lady. I should very much like to impress someone."

_Is that a suggestion you are giving, Ser? _ Ashara smiled to herself and they ascended the serpentine steps to the Queen's chambers in silence.

A fire was crackling in the hearth, and sweet-swelling rushes had been scattered on the floor. At the long trestle table, the Queen was sitting demurely.

Elia did not rise to greet, and nor did Ashara expect her to. Instead she went over, knelt down beside the Queen's chair and planted a peck on her fellow Dornishwoman's cheek. Elia gave her a smile that was bright like the Sun of her family's sigil and gave Ashara's hands a pleasant squeeze. "It's so good that you came."

"As if I wouldn't," she laughed before looking around. "Where are the children?"

As if to answer her question two young boys came squealing into the room, laughing and shouting at each other in play. Toy swords were in their arms, waving about in mock battle, both boys jumping and howling pretending to slash and guard against invisible attack. The silver-gold hair of Prince Aegon looked a bird's nest, his purple eyes wide with excitement. The other boy….

_Robb. _Every single time Ashara looked at the little Stark she felt as though someone had struck her with all their might. _Ned's boy,_ she thought as she watched the auburn haired child laugh with the crown prince. It was hard to look at the child, and even harder to look away. _ Ned has been taken from me, and now his son is all that remains. _ Ashara rarely spoke of the Quiet Wolf, and when she did it was only ever to Elia whom she trusted above all else. _We should have been married;_ she thought soberly, _If it wasn't for Rhaegar we would have been free to wed. Robb should have been my son…_

Most men called Rhaegar merciful for sparring Ned's life and allowing the Starks to retain their status, but Ashara found it unspeakably cruel how he had taken the newborn Robb as his hostage while the child's mother languished in Riverrun. _How long did she get to hold her boy before they snatched the babe away? _ Ashara remembered her own child, the empty cradle. The grief had almost been overwhelming; in truth she would have likely killed herself if not for Elia.

Despite his life as a hostage, something almost all the nobles at court were quick to remind the child, Robb had managed to form a friendship with Aegon. There was rarely a moment where the prince could be found without his little northern shadow following. Ashara looked from the children to Elia who was frowning slightly. The daughter of the Sun hardly raised her voice. "Aegon, that's quite enough."

The children quieted instantly, and Aegon looked over sheepishly at his mother. "But Mama, we want to play!"

"You can play tomorrow," she told him, not ungently. "But for now it is time for bed."

Aegon opened his mouth to answer, but caught the sharp look his mother was giving him and quickly shut it. He frowned for a moment before hurrying over to Elia and planting a quick peck on her cheek and uttered a goodnight. Behind him, Robb was looking as if he wanted to fade into the furniture.

The Queen looked over to the white knight standing at the door. "Ser Jaime, could you escort the boys back to their rooms?" Jaime gave a single, bored, nod before shooing the children out of the chamber. The laughter echoed out in the hallway before slowly fading. Elia gave a tired sigh and then turned back to Ashara. "He's like a little Oberyn with all that energy and the Stark boy doesn't help. It's hard to keep up."

"How are you feeling?"

Elia's smile was faint. "Tired, more often than not."

Ashara felt a swell of alarm, terrible warmth of the nape of her neck that just kept growing. "What can I do?" she asked hopefully, holding onto her friend's hand as though it were an anchor for her happiness. _She is the best person I know, what would I do if she was gone?_

"Dearest Ash, you needed worry so much." Her attention turned to the table, and Ashara rose from beside her and moved to sit across on the chair opposite. Servants brought out a broth of leeks and mushrooms, which seemed perfect as Elia had but the smallest of appetite at the best of times. They ate in silence for a time, the only noise the clinking of the utensils against each other.

Ashara could only take so much before the words came tumbling out. "Is it true Rhaegar seeks to host a tourney?"

Elia took a final, sad sip of her broth before setting her spoon down. Her dark eyes suddenly seemed haunted. "Yes, I believe he has been writing to Tywin Lannister about it for the last week."

_By all the Gods in Westeros and the thousand in the east, _suddenly Ashara lost all thought for food and could only stare questioningly at her friend. _What is this man thinking!_ Tywin Lannister's enmity with Aerys Targaryen was well known by all, and when the Dragons faced their biggest threat he remained with his armies in the safety of Casterly Rock as the realm burned. Because he had not taken direct action against the royal family and because he was too powerful an enemy for the crown to face, the Old Lion remained untouched by the Rebellion. _But for Rhaegar to be in correspondence with such a brutal man…_ Ashara dare not consider the reason.

The Queen seemed to have picked up on her distress and leaned forward, her eyes full of desperation. Her slender hand reached out and grasped Ashara's. "Ash, if….if Arthur ever told you anything about Rhaegar, anything at all…..you would tell me, wouldn't you?"

"Of course," she replied. "But by the Gods Elia, what do you think he plans on doing?"

Elia leaned back in her seat, looking every bit as frail as the court gossips claimed her to be. Ashara had never thought her best friend as anything other than a pillar of strength, but as she sat there, she feared that her queen might crumble. "I can't trust him," she confessed softly, in a voice that was little more than a breath. "After the Rebellion…after the Stark girl, things got better between us. He was attentive and he sat with me, doted on the children. He hurt me, shamed me….but I can't help it, I can't hate him." tears rolled down her olive cheeks, and the Queen of Westeros began to silently weep. "Why can't I hate? What's wrong with me?"

Ashara rose from her chair silently and once again knelt before her queen, her pillar of strength. She felt humbled in a way most did when at prayer. _And why not? _She asked herself. _Elia saved me when the Gods turned their back._ She took the queen's hands, small and thin. "He is the father of your children. Whatever else he has done, he also gave you them. There is _nothing_ wrong with you." She pulled free a handkerchief and gave it over to Elia. "Now dry your eyes, think of your children, and then you too should rest."

If Elia wanted to protest she gave no voice to it, and with Ashara's help made it back to her bed. It may have been hard for the Princess of Dorne to allow others to see her in such a state, but Ashara was beyond that and with little enough fuss had her friend into her nightgown and in bed. They whispered sweet words of kindness before Ashara took her leave.

She walked back to her own chambers in a daze. It was an odd sensation, as if she was watching herself from above. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of anger and desperation. _Why am I acting like this? All I know is that Rhaegar has been speaking with Tywin Lannister, that does not mean he is guilty of some crime, even if Elia is worried. _ But despite her reasoning, Ashara couldn't shake the bad feeling that was brewing in the pit of her stomach.

Somewhere along her travels she found herself in the nursery. Ser Jaime gave her a single nod from his post at the doorway as she entered. It was dark, yet somehow she knew her way. She had been there before, more times than she dared to admit.

The boy was curled up, cradling a pillow to his chest. His tiny features were peaceful in sleep in a way he would never know whilst awake. _Would that I had been the one to birth, _she thought sadly, biting down on her bottom lip to stifle her tears._ Then I could take you away from all this, from the madness of Kings…_

It was Robb she thought of as she sat down later that night, writing a letter to the Red Viper. _Put an end to it, before we all die…_


	4. The Dragon's Court

** A/N: A thousand thank yous to everyone who left a review! You're all gold!**

**OSWELL**

Queen Rhaella's skirts danced about with every step she took, a violet flame dancing. The Lords Velaryon, Tyrell, Karstark, and Harlaw bowed respectfully as she entered. She greeted each in turn, spoke a quiet word with a Dornishmen in attendance, and seated herself at the head of the painted table, between Tyrell and Velaryon.

Oswell had claimed the seat right where Casterly Rock lay on the table so that he could gaze at everyone else. Karstark seemed to think it his obligation to sit towards the North, looking as grim as the land he called home. Rodrik Harlaw sat by the place that was carved to resemble Oldtown, admiring the detail in the wood whilst the strange Dornishman sat as far away from the others as he could. _An odd collection,_ Oswell thought, _and for some reason I am included in their ranks._

The Queen looked every bit the dragon she was, dressed in the finest silks and jewels Oswell had ever seen, her silver-gold hair tied back into a braid that hung over her shoulder. _Visenya Targaryen come again._ Oswell thought she even looked younger as well.

"My lords," Rhaella greeted. "I thank you all for coming and I know that it is an unusual request, but I know with certainty that those sitting at this table are true servants of the Realm."

There was a cluck of agreement from the lords, and the Queen's purple eyes seemed to shine. The Dornishman however, remained dead silent. Oswell could not put a name to his face, nor did the man's clothing give away anything either. He was not dressed in any of the popular Dornish fashions that currently pervaded the land, yet his clothing was of a certain quality that assured all of his status as a nobleman of some kind. _What are you doing here stranger?_

The Queen gestured to Monford Velaryon. "Velaryon and Targaryen have been staunch friends going back since before the Doom, your attendance here is most comforting." The lord of Driftmark gave a modest smile at the queen's praise. Oswell was certain that if the man had a tail that it would be wagging.

Her attention turned to Mace Tyrell. "My lord of Highgarden, it is with your bountiful land that the realm is fed, and your loyalty to the crown during the rebellion has not been forgotten."

_The fat oaf sat around trying to starve out Stannis Baratheon when he should have been bolstering Rhaegar's forces on the Trident,_ thought Oswell, with more than a touch of bitterness.

"Lord Karstark," she made the grizzled man's name sound like a song. "You chose to fight against my husband, your rightful king. By most that would be judged as an act of treason, yet I know better than anyone that my husband was a madman and that the slaying of Lord Stark and his son was unjust. You made a decision that you believed was for the greater good of the realm, I hope you can be trusted to do so again."

Rickard Karstark looked like a half-starved, half-mad dog that had been kicked one too many times by its owner. His beard, which was once a dark brown, was now mostly overtaken with grey and hung about his face messily. He looked wild, and utterly out of place in the presence of a Queen of Westeros, yet his eyes seemed to soften as he looked over at Rhaella. "Aye, Your Grace, aye."

Queen Rhaella's purple eyes found Rodrick Harlow, yet he did not meet her gaze. In fact the Iron Islander was busy examining the painted table which they sat. He seemed to feel the others gazing upon him and looked up in embarrassment. Oswell was taken aback by the man. Growing up in Harrenhall he had been told countless tales of the Ironborn warriors raping and burning the Riverlands under Harren the Black, yet the man sitting across from him could not be more different. _He looks more like a Maester than a warrior…._

There was a brief flicker across the bookish man's face and suddenly he seemed to harden slightly, giving off an air of authority. "My queen," he said in a firm voice. "I must admit that while I've been incredibly flattered to be invited here to your family's ancestral seat and be part of such fine company, I am not entirely sure I understand it." With one hand he gestured to Tyrell and with the other Karstark. "Neither myself, or any of my fellow Iron Islanders took part in the Rebellion, and concern for the realm….well, that has never been a trait we have been known for."

"I'm hoping you can help me change that," said Rhaella with a knowing smile. She turned to the others. "All of us…we can make a difference. A storm is coming and we need to be prepared for it or else it could be our children that suffer."

Mace Tyrell frowned. "What do you mean, My Lady?"

Rhaella pursed her lips and for the first time since King Aerys died, she looked uncertain. "Rhaegar," she breathed. "The problem is Rhaegar."

The room fell to silence. Oswell leaned forward in his seat, intent. _We've now reached the point of no return,_ he realized. _This is no longer a friendly discussion among lords; this is out and out treason. _He wondered if he should report any of it back to Ser Gerold, it was his duty to protect the king after all. _I broke my oath once by choosing a prince over my King; it seems it's going to become a habit…_

Harlaw was the first to speak. "What is it that the King has done?"

"It is not what he _has_ done," the Queen Dowager replied. "It is what he's _planning_ to do. I am sure you have all heard the rumblings about the tourney at Casterly Rock that he has been arranging with Tywin Lannister."

Mace Tyrell blinked in confusion. "Apologies….but what harm can come from a tourney?"

"Have you forgotten Harrenhall so easily?" asked Velaryon, ever the eager pet of the Queen. "Rhaegar used a tourney to mask his intentions last time and we had a war because of it."

The Fat Flower squirmed in his seat. "But surely the King would not be so thoughtless or arrogant to repeat himself? I have no love for the Martells, but after the rebellion their influence at court has only grown. Surely his grace would not upset them."

Oswell stirred. "Rhaegar is not governed by such things. The king has been playing at a bigger game, and if offending his various lords and causing a little bloodshed help him get his desired goal then he will not hesitate and he will not stop." He could still remember the way Rhaegar's eyes shone with certainty as he described the prophecy. The memory of it would haunt him some times, when he thought about the war.

Rhaella Targaryen's face seemed calm and collected, but behind it Oswell sensed maternal worry. "There is a reason why Cersei Lannister is still unmarried and I believe it has to do with Rhaegar," said the Queen Dowager. "If he uses this tourney as an excuse to get close to her….he may very well set aside Elia for Tywin's daughter and the Dornish will scream for blood."

"Could he not take two brides?" Karstark asked in his usual blunt way. "He did it with Lyanna Stark, why not do it again?"

Rodrick Harlaw coughed and sat forward, eyes intent. "Lyanna Stark died before she could rule as his second queen."

"But had she lived there would have been two queens."

"Aye," agreed Harlaw. "And we would have been facing Dornish uproar five years earlier. Not to mention the outrage it would stir within in the Faith."

Mace Tyrell sneered at the Iron Islander. "I did not know that the Ironborn worshiped the Seven."

"We don't," he replied coolly. "But I have read enough to know that in the history of the Targaryen reign only two kings have taken more than one bride and Rhaegar for all his fame and love, is not Aegon the Dragon or Baelor the Blessed. The Faith will insist that one of the marriages be absolved."

Rhaella frowned at the idea. "If he goes through with this plan of wedding Cersei Lannister then he shall have all the spears of Dorne against him, whether it is on the battlefield against the Red Viper or through poison at court, they will be against him."

"He'd also have all the power of Casterly Rock at his back," Karstark reminded them. "You throw that kind of force at anyone and there is sure to be a reckoning. The South would be caught between the forces of Martell and Lannister. It would be Robert's Rebellion all over again."

"Not if we stop it," insisted the Queen Dowager, looking at them all fiercely as a mother dragon. "If we can put an end to Rhaegar's ambitions before he does anything foolish then countless lives will be saved. We need not go through all this again."

Lord Harlaw pinched at his nose. "How would we possibly do that? Rhaegar is _king. _ We cannot simply storm the Red Keep and force him to stay loyal to his wife, not if he has Tywin Lannister backing him, not to mention all the other lords of Crownlands, Riverrun and Vale that might join them." He looked at Rickard Karstark. "I also doubt that many of your fellow Northmen would raise up in open rebellion whilst Robb Stark sits as a hostage in King's Landing. Benjen Stark would not hear of it."

Karstark gave a grim nod. "Aye, the North cannot act with young Robb's life on the line. _I _would not hear of it either, the boy is kin."

"I can have the boy moved into my care," Queen Rhaella said politely. "If we do this right, with patience and persistence, then we can avoid great bloodshed."

Mace Tyrell puffed himself up, putting on a veneer of courage and stalwart bravery. "The power of the Reach is at your call my Queen; we shall give any and every support that you desire of us."

The grim northerner leaned forward, looking at them each in turn. "If you can promise me with absolute certainty that Robb Stark will be kept safe and away from the King and his Lannisters, then the North will fight for you."

"I shall do you one better my lord," the Queen said with a confident smile. "After we do this thing, I promise you that I will return the boy back to his family in the North."

Rodrick Harlaw looked doubtful. "Despite what you all might think of me and my people, we Iron Islanders do not all enjoy bloodletting. But we have a way of life, an old way that has not changed in thousands of years. My good-brother has little love for Greenlanders, he could just as easily attack if he thinks you're all vulnerable."

"You have the chance to lead your people into a better future my lord," the Queen's voice was laced with emotion. "I can promise your good-brother a place on the small council as Master of Ships; I can make him several concessions that might-"

"-No my Queen," he cut in. "That would only incense him. There are few things that Balon hates more than being given something. It would shame him and likely make an enemy out of him."

Rhaella pursed her lips, and sat back in her seat. Her brow was crinkled in thought and her eyes were staring at the painted table. Suddenly a smile came over her face. "My lord, would it be pleasing to your good-brother if he _kept_ what lands he might take should a conflict arise?"

Harlaw took a breath, and gave a nod. "Aye, I think he would be much more open to that arrangement…I cannot promise you the allegiance of my people, but I can promise that I shall make your cause heard."

"That is all that I ask, my lord."

Oswell watched the faces of the Lords, Tyrell, Karstark, Velaryon and Harlaw, wondering if any of them saw the gaping hole in their plans. None of them did so the task fell to him to remind them. "My lords," he said. "You are forgetting our friend at Storm's End. House Baratheon has been at the mercy of Rhaegar ever since Robert died at the Trident. Do you really think our King will just let them sit back and do nothing? Renly Baratheon was still a hostage last time I checked."

"Then you need check again ser," laughed the Lord Oaf of Highgarden. "The boy has been serving as my ward for over a month now."

Queen Rhaella gave a slight nod to confirm Tyrell's story. "Renly is safe with Lord Mace, and I have been writing to Lord Stannis for quite some time now. He is….open to discussion. At the very least I am confident that we can ensure Baratheon neutrality."

_By the gods,_ _she's truly thought this all out._ It was all Oswell could do to hold back his laughter. He watched Queen Rhaella sitting regally in her chair, there was a power to the woman, an assurance. _Aegon the conqueror with teats indeed…_

She looked at them all, one by one. "Is there any more? Is there anything else we need discuss?" A pleasant and respectful silence from her lords was her only answer. "Then I thank you. My lords, your courage and wisdom today will be vital in the coming days, and I may need to call upon you again. Until then I wish you well."

Obediently, the other conspirators made their farewells, Tyrell the first to depart and Harlaw and Karstark after. Velaryon tried to linger like a child been sent to bed, but eventually left as well. Oswell did not move from his seat.

The Queen however, paid him no mind and turned to the other man sitting at the table. The Dornishman had been so quiet and unresponsive the entire time that Oswell had completely forgotten about his presence. He sat respectfully in his seat, looking up over the queen with an odd expectancy. Rhaella smiled at him. "What does your lord say on this matter? Can I count on his support?"

"He has but few ships Your Grace," the Dornishman's accent was thick and held the twang of the Free Cities. "His military support would only be small."

Rhaella made a face. "His moral support is what I need."

The Dornishman rose and took out a small letter. He gave it to the Queen and stood back a few steps, his head bowed respectfully as he spoke. "I believe you will always have that, Your Grace."

"I….thank you, Ser," There was an odd layer of emotion to Rhaella's voice, an unexpected amount of joy that threatened to turn into something more. She pressed the letter to her heart. "You will have everything you need while you stay. You may go and rest now if it please you."

He gave a deep bow and strolled from the room in silence.

As soon as the door closed Rhaella opened the letter with a desperate sense of urgency and quickly read it over. Her purple eyes stared long and hard at the paper, as if to memorize each and every word on the page. Whatever it was that was written made the Queen smile, and her eyes glassy. _Now what could that be about?_ Oswell's interest was piqued.

"A good read I hope?" Oswell said casually, slouching back in his seat as much as his armour would allow.

The Queen's face shot up in surprise and she quickly folded the piece of paper. "Yes, from someone I haven't seen since I was a girl."

"And that Dornishman," he noted. "Quite an accent he has."

"From the Stepstones," she told him quietly. "There is a Dornish outpost there commanded by someone loyal to the Iron Throne."

_Ah, so that's it then. _Rhaegar had told Oswell about his mad relative living on the fringes of the realm, but he had thought the man dead. "This would be kin of yours?" he asked. "The burnt one?"

Rhaella's face twisted into a scowl at his tone. "My uncle, yes."

"Hasn't he been living among the corsairs for…" Oswell tried to calculate how long it would have been, puffed out his cheeks and blew a breath. "At least since the time of your father King Jaehaerys. What does he offer you after so long?"

The Queen Dowager glanced over at one of the stone dragons that had been carved into the walls and gave a tired sigh. "That is not important. What was just discussed in this room on the other hand...I need to know what you think, as a friend of Rhaegar, as someone who has helped him with his obsessions….I need to know that I am not wrong."

Oswell didn't even need to think. "You are not wrong. I could see the signs in the weeks before I left, the moodiness, the bouts of extended depression. King Rhaegar has been dreaming his odd little dreams again and this time he is more determined than ever to see it happen. That is, unless Elia poisons him first."

"She wouldn't do that," Rhaella insisted. "She wouldn't do that to her children."

Oswell shrugged. "Either way, the Dornish will not be happy. Even if Rhaegar does nothing official, Oberyn Martell will ache to sink his fangs into the King. There are enough of those damned vipers at court already; Aerys certainly didn't see it coming."

"I did not love Aerys," she said quietly. "But I do love my son, and I will not see him destroyed in the way his father was."

He scratched at the stubble that formed under his jaw line, thinking. "Why… are _you_ doing all this? Not to call your capability into question, but why are you getting so involved with all of this?"

The queen looked at him in a way he couldn't quite decipher. She seemed almost like a young maiden then, watching him as if he were a strange housecat that she had found sleeping in her rooms. A smile danced on her lips and she rested her chin upon her hands. "I knew fifteen years of happiness. After that my life was effectively over as I lived at Aerys side, underneath his thumb." Her eyes were locked upon his with such intensity that he almost flinched. "I have little love for your sworn brothers, towards the end I feared those damned White cloaks and their apathy as much as I did Aerys and his claws and teeth. I would have likely died during those days had it not been for Rhaegar's victory and Elia's poisons. Daenerys' birth was hard, but I willed myself to live because I knew…I _knew_ that I was free. I had my life back."

"And yet you left King's Landing." Oswell pointed out. "It was your home, and yet you came to this gloomy place."

"I did," she agreed. "This place sheltered my family for centuries; I needed to recover from everything….it made sense to come here. My time here, away from court…it gave me time to think about what was important. My father died for this realm, and while my brother and even my beloved son may let it down, I will not."

Oswell let out a breath. _At least I can see where Rhaegar gets his courage, _he thought whilst drumming his fingers against the table in contemplation. "Are you really going to free Rhaegar's hostages?"

Rhaella rolled her eyes. "Of course I am; I gave my word. And besides, that is why my lie will convince Rhaegar; because it won't be a lie at all." She got a faraway look and her voice went soft. "Jon has Dany and Viserys to some extent, but the child is lonely and solemn. I find myself hoarding his smiles like pearls, and they grow rarer each day. I can only hope that when we move from here that he'll find something to bring him joy."

"Move?" he was confused. "Where are we going Your Grace?"

Rhaella's smile was wolfish. "Why, to Summerhall of course."


	5. Fate vs Faith

** A/N: Thank you every who was kind enough to leave a review, they mean so much!**

**RICHARD**

If King's Landing mourned its dead former city watch commander, Richard would never have known it. To the knight it seemed like every other day in the capitol, with all the usual crowds; gold cloaks in their heavy mail, bakers' boys selling tarts and breads and pies, whores leaning out of windows with their bodices half unlaced, gutters redolent of night-soil. They passed a juggler spinning knives through the air to the delight of a throng of drunken soldiers and small children.

Richard and Bryce attracted nary a second glance as they rode down the crowded streets, not even those who walked close by. _How can they not smell the head?_ He wondered with amazement. It seemed that he had not been able to rid himself of Stokeworth's rotting stench even after he smothered the severed head under several layers.

They made their way through to the Red Keep with little to no trouble just as the sun was lowering on the horizon, Richard's face well known among the guards and they gave a respectful nod. Once their horses had been seen to, Richard and Bryce made their way in through the throng of courtiers. Amidst the dozens of noblemen and women he caught sight of a white cloak and suddenly Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard was standing before him, wrinkles starting to form around the corners of his kindly eyes as he smiled.

"Ser Richard, I am glad to see you back at last." The Dornishman shone so fine and pure in his white scales and silk that Richard felt a tattered and uncouth thing by contrast.

Richard bowed slightly. "Ser Lewyn, I have done as the King has bid of me and wish to present my proof before the court."

Martell's dark eyes scanned the sack that Bryce was holding. There was an unreadable look on his face, yet he gave the slightest of nods before gesturing for them to follow him through the crowd of people. He was no longer in his prime, and the wounds he suffered at the Trident had severely limited his mobility, but the Knight still managed to hold himself with a level of pride that Richard found endearing.

"The king is not attending court today," the Dornishman informed them. "But I'm sure the Lord Hand will receive you just the same."

Richard hummed an agreement and tried to ignore all the eyes that fell upon him as he slowly made his way towards the looming mass of swords that Aegon the Conqueror had forged as his throne. Jon Connington could not have looked more uncomfortable sitting atop the collection of barbed steel, and his expression was not made any better by the courtiers who stood before him asking him some petty thing or another.

They stood there for a time as yet another minor lordling came and made some case over a land dispute, Richard's eyes never leaving the Hand as the man considered his judgement. Connington was a good man in his own way, dutiful to what was required of him and just when it came to most things. Richard could find few issues with such a man holding power. _Though his devotion to Rhaegar is nigh fanatical….._

Once the matter had been resolved, the Lord of Griffin's Roost gestured for Richard to come forward. "So you have returned to us alive Ser, with good tidings I hope?"

"I do my lord," he replied, doing his best to stifle his distaste as he took the sack from Bryce. He stepped forwards and upended it and Stokeworth's head dropped onto the marble floor of the throne room with a hollow clonking. It rolled awkwardly; leaving an uneven trail of bloody smears and came to a rest, face up so that its slack eyes gazed just above the Iron Throne. "The criminal Manly Stokeworth is dead."

To his credit, Lord Connington did not bat an eye. "And so he is," the Hand of the King rose from his spiked seat and made his way down the steps and across the marble floor, casually sidestepping the head. He finally came to a halt a pace away. "Ser Richard," he announced loudly, clasping the knight's shoulders. "You have helped deliver the king's justice and put an end to a vile murderer. The crown thanks your for your service."

"It was my honour," Richard lied. "I live to serve his grace."

Jon suddenly pulled him into an embrace then. It was a short thing that was meant to invoke a sense of joy among the others watching, yet when the Hand spoke, it was in a hushed and serious tone. "Rhaegar wants to see you."

* * *

Ser Gerold and Ser Jaime stood by the door to the King's solar, eyes watching for danger. Both greeted Richard with a smile. "It is good to see you back from your journey; we worried that you might befall some trouble, Ser, His grace will be glad to see you_._" Jaime told him as he held open the door.

King Rhaegar Targaryen was seated beneath the window, writing out something with a fervent intensity. His desk was littered with ancient books and dusty scrolls. He raised his eyes at the sound of the latch. "Richard."

"Your Grace," the knight said with a bow. "You wanted to see me."

Rhaegar smiled at him, a sad wistful sort of smile. He had a strong face, with hair like spun silver that curled in ringlets and fell down into lilac eyes. Even seated, he was tall. And slender. He wore a doublet of simple crimson and over that he wore melancholy like a cloak. Candlelight flickered in his eyes, and his hands locked together neatly. "You were successful?" he asked, without moving.

"Yes, your grace." He replied solemnly. "I brought him back to the capitol."

"Alive?"

Richard felt a pang of guilt and shame. "He would not listen to reason."

"Well," said the king, gesturing for Richard to take a seat. "That is quite a shame. Did he say anything before….he died?"

"Ravings," Richard said. "Mostly nonsense about the kingdoms, about you planning to bring doom upon us all." He sighed. "He just wouldn't listen, no matter what I said he would not back down. I did not want to kill him."

His hands unfolded and rested on the carved wooden arms of his chair. He nodded, but the wistful expression remained. "But you did," he said quietly. "You went against your morals to do something that you knew was for the greater good." His eyes strayed to Richard's hands. "You've bloodied yourself in my name, I will not forget that."

Richard forced a grin, hoping it would catch on to the king. "Wine heals all wounds."

"Not all wounds," he said evenly. "I visit some of the old battlefields sometimes, with my Kingsguard at my side, trying to relive those days. Thousands of good men died in that war, a war that was in part of my own making. I try to imagine all of that grief and suffering, I try to take it all on myself. Like a weight that needs to be carried." His eyes, endless in their grief met his own. "I know that I have not suffered nearly enough."

"Your father was also to blame," Richard pointed out. "The war was more his doing than yours."

Rhaegar winced at the mention of Mad Aerys. "My father was….a beast. He was mad and cruel and an utter monster by the end. Rhaenys….she used to be frightened of him, and who wouldn't be? _I_ felt frightened of him at times." He considered for a moment before letting out a tired sigh. "But for all that he did and all that he was….he never chose to become monster, there was even a time when I loved him."

"For all the strife that war caused, you have also healed the land greatly." Richard reminded the king, wishing desperately that something that could make his old friend smile again. "The commonfolk love you, and I don't think the crown has known such stability. Even the Iron Bank is mostly content after the latest repayment…" he struggled for a moment. "Your own House is doing much better than it has in almost half a century."

The king waved an impatient hand. "The commonfolk also loved my father if you'll recall and I needed quite a bit of borrowing to pay back those damned Braavosi, now I am in a different sort of debt. But it is one no less dangerous…." His gaze wondered out to the window and all the city that lay beyond, he was searching for something it seemed. "And my family, oh Richard, if only you knew. For all the love I bare them, I cannot trust them."

"Your Grace, that cannot be true!" he was startled by the thought. "Your siblings love your dearly, I have seen so with mine own eyes."

"My brother looks up to me," he agreed. His voice still sounded sad. "But his head is full of air. He has too much of our father in him for any real support beyond adoration. Daenerys has the potential to be as valuable to the realm as her namesake was all those centuries ago, but she is hardly more than a babe." He frowned. "My mother has kept them at Dragonstone for far too long."

Richard bit his lip, determined to prove his old friend wrong. "You have a loving wife, three children. Surely they are of some comfort."

There was hesitation on his face, but that soon gave way to the slightest of smiles. "Rhaenys is smarter than most adults by half; I've seen her at her lessons with the Maesters. I know that she'll make a fine queen one day, Queen Alysanne come again mayhaps. And Aegon, by the Gods Richard I have not seen someone with more energy, and the other children adore him. With the right guidance he could do great things….he _will_ do great things." His smile fell downwards and the air of hopelessness overcame him again. "I have tried to do right by Elia. I think….I do love her in my own way, but she is holding me back from doing what I must. We all have a duty to the realm and she cannot give me anymore children. It is destined that the Aegon has his Visenya."

Richard found he could no longer hold his tongue. "Your Grace, forgive me for saying this, but the queen is unhappy because you _make_ her feel unhappy, for your own reasons. I don't even understand it myself."

"You wouldn't," the king replied softly. "And I don't expect you to Richard. I only ask that you trust me as you once did, back when I was a knight and you my squire. I am only a man and I make mistakes, but in this matter Richard I need you to give me your faith. The realm will prosper, in time you will see that."

_What is he talking about?_ A horrible thought crept into Richard's head. _He means to take another bride, just like the Stark girl._ Desperation made him speak. "Whatever dream or song this notion has come from your grace, surely it is not worth fighting another war? Prince Doran would not take any _insult_ to his sister lightly."

Rhaegar stared down at his hands, he suddenly looked tired. "Prince Doran is a reasonable man above all, he would not needlessly throw Dornish blood away over hurt feelings." His lilac eyes met Richard's. "Did you not tell me that if I spared Stannis Baratheon that I would incite another rebellion? Yet the man has kept the peace for five years and lived within the law."

_Yes, but only because you hold his little brother hostage._ Richard knew the Baratheons, and the look on Stannis' gaunt face the day they informed him of his brother's defeat had not been a reassuring one. Yet Rhaegar did not wish to kill his kin if he could avoid it and so the man continued on as Lord of Storm's End.

"The Martells are not Stannis Baratheon," he tried to remind the king. "If you take another bride, one way or another the seven kingdoms will bleed and all your hard work these last years will have been for nothing."

Rhaegar frowned deeply at that, and for a moment Richard found that he could not meet those sad eyes any longer. The King's voice was soft and calm, but the anger was still evident. "These lordlings merely stand in the way of the realm's salvation, Richard, if they want a war then be it on their heads."

The knight couldn't help but gasp. "May the Gods have mercy…."

"It is fate that governs us Richard, not the Gods," he replied coldly. "And it is fate that we must abide."

_I have lost,_ he realized. He felt his shoulders sink and he slumped in his chair. "Why did you call me here, Your Grace, if you did not want my council?"

Rhaegar regarded him for a moment before sitting back in his chair, he brought his hands together again in cold contemplation. "I have a task for you."

With a tired sigh the knight gave a nod. "Aye, as ever, I am your man."

"I need you to go to Casterly Rock."


	6. A Rat in the Snake Pit

**A/N: Thank you all again for the lovely reviews, they keep me inspired!**

**HOTAH**

A warning had come to Dorne on raven wings, writ small and sealed with a blog of purple wax. The Maester Caleotte brought it directly to Prince Doran and his brother whilst they sat together in the prince's solar. Areo Hotah watched the man with cold regard as he entered, hand firmly set on the ash shaft of his axe.

The Maester gave a bow to both Doran and Oberyn, before setting the letter on the desk at which the brothers sat. Prince Doran thanked the man and sent him on his way, staring at the piece of parchment that lay curled up before him. His younger brother lazed about in a chair, casually drinking from a cup of wine. Hotah watched him closest of all.

"It is from King's Landing," the prince of Dorne remarked as he broke the seal. "Lady Ashara Dayne."

Oberyn took another mouthful of wine, his dark eyes settling on the small piece of paper. "What does she want? I had thought we were generous enough the last time she asked for coin."

The prince's face darkened as he read and reread the letter over and over. Hotah instantly felt himself go on edge. _There are few things in this world that can make my prince worried like this,_ _and a letter from King's Landing does not bode well for anyone…_

Doran calmly handed the letter to his brother and a dreadful silence filled the room. Finally Oberyn crumbled the letter up and threw it at the floor. Hotah watched it bounce right before his feet and clenched the shaft of his axe tighter, wary of the Red Viper's movements as he practically jumped from his seat.

"I will see that bastard drowning in a pool of snakes!" he declared.

"No, Oberyn," the prince told his brother firmly. "You will not. Not yet anyway."

The Viper's nostrils flared in outrage. "He shames our sister and her children before the entire kingdom, and not for the first time!" Oberyn grit his teeth so hard they looked ready to shatter. "How can you sit there and do nothing?"

"Because I am considering everything, not just the words of Ashara Dayne," Doran replied. "Elia would not want us to put all of Dorne at risk for her sake, you know that. You cannot just march up to the Red Keep and demand blood." The prince spread his hands before them. "A gentler approach is needed."

"I want to go to the capitol," insisted Oberyn. "I want to see her."

There was a brief moment of uncertainty before Doran gave a brief nod. "If you go to court then you will need to control yourself. If this matter blossomed into a full scale war then you'd be putting both Elia and her children at risk. Nothing overt can be done until everything is in place."

Oberyn smiled. "How long have you been awaiting this day brother?"

Doran winced as if he had been struck. "I await nothing; I have been _dreading _this day for the last five years, hoping against hope that Elia would not have to suffer any of this again. My plans have always been a safety net, Oberyn."

"Regardless the day has come, and you must put things into motion."

There was certain aggressiveness to the way the Red Viper moved that Hotah did not like, and he measured the distance between himself and the man. _In this small room I could likely cut him in half with a single blow before he ever reached my prince._

But the older brother did not back falter away from his sibling's aggression. "Even if I do Oberyn, things take time. For my spies to get into place, for my soldiers to assemble, for my offers and deals to be made…it takes time and patience."

"Every day we linger is another day that Elia is stuck with that bastard," growled Oberyn. "I won't have it Doran. She doesn't deserve any of it, and if what Ashara Dayne is right then he plans on discarding her like an unwanted toy. The Gods only know what will happen to Rhaenys and Aegon."

Doran let out a sigh. "He will not do anything until the tourney, and that is still a month away if Ashara is correct. You do not need to do anything this very moment, other than take some time to consider how you plan to progress without getting yourself killed."

The Viper stared at his brother for a long moment, face unreadable, before reaching over to a nearby flagon of wine to refill his cup. He took a mouthful and swallowed. "Very well. I shall remain here for another week, gathering what trustworthy men I have and then make for the capitol."

"And when you arrive you will be nothing but courteous to everyone," Doran reminded him with an edge to his voice. "Safeguard our sister and her children, but do nothing else until I give you the word."

"And then?"

Doran frowned. "And then, if it comes to it, you make sure King Rhaegar doesn't live to shame Elia again."

"When you say things like that, it reminds me that we did indeed share a womb."

The Prince of Dorne simply looked out his window into the night sky. "I'd prefer to be alone for now Oberyn. We will talk later."

Oberyn looked at his brother for half a heartbeat, looking as though he wanted to give voice to some intimate thought but then thought better of it. He drained his cup and quietly left the room without another word. Hotah watched him go with relief and tried to pretend that he had not heard anything, tried to give the prince as much solitude as one could provide whilst still standing in his presence.

"What do you think Hotah?" asked the prince in a tired voice, his fingers rubbing circles into his temple. "Should I let Oberyn have his way?"

Hotah considered for a moment, and then shook his head. "You did the right thing, my prince. It is better to wait and do things the proper way."

"I haven't seen Elia or her children in so long," there was a heavy ache in his voice. "I didn't see her nearly as much as I should have when we were young. I feel like I have missed out on her life…and now she truly needs me, as little sisters often need their big brothers."

_I can hardly remember what my brothers and sisters looked like._ It had been many years since his parents had sold him to the Bearded Priests, he could not relate to his prince's plight. "It was as you told Oberyn, it is better to wait. Better for Queen Elia and better for Dorne."

"In that matter, you are correct my friend." Doran stared at his hands; his finger joints were swollen red with gout. "Whatever pain we may feel, it is nothing to the pain of the thousands who depend on us."

The silence that followed only lasted a moment before the chamber doors opened and Maester Caleotte burst in. Hotah instinctively moved his axe before the older man to block his entry, looking at the man with a hard gaze. "The prince does not wish to be disturbed."

"It's alright Hotah," the prince said softly, smiling at the old Maester as he entered. "What is it Caleotte?"

The old man swallowed uneasily. "My prince, we've had a messenger arrive at the palace. He bids us to prepare a welcome for his lord, Garin of Bloodstone, who seeks to have an audience with you my prince."

Doran pursed his lips then nodded. "I see."

"You are a gracious host," the traveller from the Stepstones declared. "I have been from the eastern palaces of Tyrosh to the brooding castles of the Crownlands and none of them compared to the splendour of Dorne."

A steady _drip-drip-drip_ punctuated his words, as rainfall ran off his cloak to a puddle on the floor beside his chair. An unusually heavy rain had fallen on Sunspear as night came, and the strange traveller and his men had come in soaked. Prince Doran however, did not seem to care one bit for the man's state as they sat across from one another. "As you say, ser."

"The food is what I miss the most." Garin of Bloodstone's skin was a dark olive; his hair and eyes were black and his limbs wiry. A Salty Dornishman, by Hotah's reckoning. In the candle light his teeth shone like pearls as he bit into the food before him. "You cannot get such spices on the Stepstones."

Hotah stared down at the man, watching for any sign of hostility. There was none at present, only an odd humour about him that seemed somewhat passive aggressive. _He might well be a Dornishman, but he's lived amongst pirates and mercenaries for a long time, long enough to forget any respect for authority._

Prince Doran cradled a cup of wine in his hand, the swollen fingers barely gripping it. He was forced to walk with a cane most days, and the Maesters said that his gout would only get worse as time went on. Despite that, there was a steely determination in the man's eyes. "Tell me, ser, what does a local from the Stepstones have that would bring him to Sunspear?"

Garin of Bloodstone shrugged. "I was on my way back from a tiring journey in the Crownlands and thought I'd enjoy the hospitality of my liege lord."

"When I was young and my mother showed me the lands I would someday rule over, I had presumed that her finger over your lord's outpost was simply an attempt to wipe a smudge from the map." Doran's eyes fixed themselves on Garin. "What does the old Targaryen want after twenty years of living in exile on that speck?"

The traveller allowed a toothy grin. "He finds the affairs of the realm to be awfully interesting of late, especially when it comes to his kin. He…._humbly_ asks for a meeting, so that the two of you might exchange ideas on the subject of the Queen and her children."

"Why not come himself?" Doran asked warily. "Why send one of his pets to travel the realm and back for news?"

"Well." Garin scratched gently at his neck as he looked at the Prince of Dorne. "Surely you have heard of his wounds? The flames of Summerhall were quite hot, and he had matters to attend so that his keep would be well maintained."

"A keep that my mother's gold paid for," croaked Doran, his expression one of sorrow. "She mentioned his burns."

Garin's brows rose slightly. "Did she tell you that the only time he ever broke his exile was to visit her after the death of your brother Olyvar?"

Hotah watched his prince's face for a moment and saw a flash of old pain cross the man's face. If there was one thing that Areo Hotah had learnt in his years serving with the Martells, it was that prince Doran was a man haunted by his past.

"She did not."

The traveller gave a long sigh. "Will you agree to meet with my lord? Tell me now so that I can be gone from your halls and back to my ships."

"Your lord wishes to talk to me about my sister," Doran mused, swishing his wine about. "How am I to know that he isn't going to take everything I say and give it to Rhaegar? The King would finally have an excuse to be rid of me."

Garin shrugged. "You only have the word of a pirate and that of his master that we mean you no harm. If you do not trust us..." he gave an unconcerned shrug. "Then so be it. There are other people in Westeros willing to talk and listen."

"What if I decide to have you executed for openly admitting your piracy?" There was a trace of Oberyn in the prince's voice.

The traveller leaned close. "You can kill me," he whispered. "But when I am not back in Torturer's Deep before the week's end, then you shall find every trading ship coming in and out of Dorne sunk to the bottom of the Narrow Sea, every man, woman and child will be taken prisoner and sold as slaves in the Gulf of Grief." He leant back into his seat, considered for a moment before smiling a broad, friendly, grin. "Or we can part ways as….well, not friends, but at least acquaintances."

Hotah felt a chill run down his neck, and shifted his weight slightly. He was prepared to cleave the little pirate's head in if he so much as gestured at the prince in a threatening way. The axe felt smooth in his hand. _Do not make me kill you, little fool._

But then Doran Martell gave a tired wave of his inflamed hand. "Go then, but I will not treat with your master until he proves that he means no harm to either my sister or her children."

"As you wish." Garin rocked forwards and rose smoothly from his chair. "My lord will be in touch, though he does advise that you keep that snake of a brother in line, for everyone's sake." He made to leave before turning around and giving an exaggerated bow. "My Prince."

Hotah released his grip and let his axe go slack, yet he could not help but feeling a sense of dread as he watched the traveller walking out of the room. Once he heard the comforting creak of the chamber door closing he turned to Prince Doran. "What do you make of that my prince?"

Doran looked down at his bloated hands, twisted and red with gout. "I shall write to Lord Yohn Royce and to Lady Catelyn Tully. It is time that we prepared for blood."


	7. Of Stags and Storms

**A/N: Ah thanks so much for taking the time to review! You guys rock!**

**OSWELL**

Storm's End was unusually warm despite the barrage of rain and wind that laid assault outside. The feast within its great walls was, without a doubt, one of the biggest the Stormlands had ever seen, although it was hardly out of the ordinary for Oswell who had spent years at court where such extravagances were commonplace. The tables groaned under the weight of the dishes served; the finest fruits from the Reach, flagons of Arbor Gold and Dornish Red, venison and beef and mutton, all roasted with various spices and peppers. Above them hung huge banners of the Stag of Baratheon and the three headed dragon of Targaryen, together for the first time since Robert's Rebellion.

Queen Rhaella was a glowing vision of beauty and vibrancy, a stark contrast to the man sitting beside her. Lord Stannis Baratheon looked as if he was begrudging every single morsel of food, every single drop of wine. _Could anyone look dourer at a feast?_ Oswell highly doubted it. _This Stormlord is completely different from the would-be usurper…_

Oswell and Ser Barristan stood at their usual positions behind the queen and her children, watching for any sign of danger or threat. Though he hid it well, Ser Barristan looked to be slightly saddened by the reminder of his old homelands. Oswell wondered how his own kin were doing back at Harrenhall; it had been an age since he had last seen his brother.

"Lord Stannis you have excelled yourself," observed the Queen. "I don't think I've been to a feast this lovely in years."

The Lord of Storm's End was silent for a time, his stormy blue eyes focused on the sight before him as guests laughed and musicians played. "Yes," he reluctantly agreed. "There was a great deal of work put into it."

"And who was it that convinced you to go to such lengths?"

Stannis looked confused. "My lady, I-"

"You need not make excuses," she said lightly. "Not everyone is as extravagant as Mace Tyrell."

The Baratheon looked down at the dish before. "Maester Cressen advised me that it would be my duty to properly welcome you my lady."

"Oh Stannis," A smile danced across Rhaella's face then. "You haven't changed have you? You're still that serious little boy from Steffon's letters."

Stannis Baratheon's mouth fell open slightly and for a moment the grim expression fell away. "He…I did not know my lord father wrote to you."

"Your father was like a brother to me," she paused to take a sip of wine. "I miss him."

There was a slight blur of movement at the edge of Oswell's vision, and with a slight grin he saw Princess Daenerys throw a grape at her brother. Viserys scowled at her and Prince Jon who was laughing, the older sibling's face rapidly turning red with anger before his mother put a single hand on his arm, silencing him. _I wonder if that was how it was with the Queen and Aerys?_ After serving the Mad King for years, Oswell often tried to understand how a man could sink so low, but more often than not he had to concede that sometimes sanity and reason did not always enter into the lives of men and kings.

The night pressed on, the music grew dimmer, the food was consumed, the Stormlords grew tired and content and the candles burnt out whilst Stannis and the Queen grew livelier. Long after the children had been escorted to their guest rooms by Ser Barristan and much of the hall cleared out, still did the Queen and the Lord of Storm's End talk.

In the end it was just Rhaella, Stannis and Oswell left in the large empty room.

"What you suggest could be considered treason," Stannis Baratheon told the Queen, his blue eyes boring a hole through her. "To go against your lawful king like this."

"And what if the king goes against the law?" countered Rhaella. "How does one get justice then?"

Stannis clenched his jaw. "The king has a small council and a Hand to keep things within the line of the law."

"Did that stop Aerys?" she asked mildly.

The Baratheon began grinding his teeth, not even bothering to mask his displeasure. _This man is not one for courtesy,_ Oswell observed. _I suppose months of living off rats and boot leather will erode a man's fear of being rude…_

"My duty is to the King,"

"Your duty is to the _realm_," Rhaella corrected. "And to justice, both of which my son is abusing at the moment. All I ask of you is that you do your duty."

Stannis let out a hesitant breath. "What about Renly?"

"As I told you in my letters, Renly is doing fine at Highgarden." Her purple eyes softened. "Lord Tyrell is with us on this matter."

"Tyrell," spat Stannis, his face twisting into an expression of fury. "He sat outside these very walls _feasting_ while I and all my men starved. Renly would have died if not for Ser Davos and his onions, and now you say that my brother is safe with this man?"

Rhaella watched his seething rage without a hint of expression, her eyes regarding him silently as she reached out and took another mouthful of Dornish Red. "I was the one who convinced Rhaegar to spare you and Renly, did you know that?"

The Stormlord was startled by that. "You?"

"I told him that it would not do to kill off any more of our kin," she said mildly. "And so he allowed you your seat and titles."

"Why would you do that?"

Rhaella looked him straight in the eye. "Because, despite your brother's foolishness, you boys are the sons of Steffon….I did not want the last pieces of such a good man to be gone from this world."

Stannis was silent. His brooding face no longer held any traces of anger or bitterness, only a deep sense of longing and grief. In that moment Oswell could see that the young man before him was not some mercurial, blood-hungry man of violence like his brother had been, but rather a sad and broken soul. _Yet there is strength to him,_ the knight realised. _He is not one to surrender…._

"I didn't have enough time with him," confessed Stannis. "I didn't get enough time with either of them."

Rhaella's hand reached out slowly and held the larger, more calloused hand of the Stormlord. Though the Baratheon stiffened at her touch, he did not pull away and that was encouragement enough for the She-Dragon. "He would have been proud of you, and he would have trusted you to do the right thing, the _just_ thing."

"I still don't trust these Tyrells," he complained grudgingly. "I need proof that they won't hurt my brother."

The Queen allowed herself a slight smile. "You are not married yet, or even betrothed….perhaps a bride from Highgarden would silence your doubts? The Lord of Storm's End is quite a desirable match after all."

"A bride?" Stannis gave the Queen dowager a sharp look. "That is no small token."

"Indeed, and Janna Tyrell is not yet spoken for." Rhaella waved the concern away. "If I ask it of Lord Mace on your behalf then he will grant it."

Stannis sat back, jaw clenched and eyes focused in deep thought. They could almost hear the grinding of his teeth as he brooded over the matter. The Lord of Storm's End released a tired breath. "Very well, ask your Fat Flower if his sister would wed me." His eyes went back to their tranquil fury. "But I would see my brother before any such marriage would occur."

"And the offer matter we discussed?" Rhaella's tone was hopeful, yet cautious. "What of that?"

Stannis made a sharp gesture. "If it comes to war then I shall do my duty to the realm."

The Queen was smiling as Oswell escorted her back to her guest chambers, and it seemed to the knight that she walked with a purpose and confidence. _Strange,_ thought Oswell,_ She is the only person whom I have ever seen energized from a discussion with Stannis Baratheon._

When they reached her doorway Oswell could no longer contain himself. "You just won an argument with the most stubborn man in Westeros, my lady. That's quite an accomplishment."

"Not really," she said as she went to a vanity and begun to remove her jewellery. "At his heart Stannis is his father's son."

Oswell raised a brow. "Lord Steffon was quite charming from what I can recall of the man."

"Yes," she agreed. "But he also had a strong sense of right and wrong. Of all the boys, Stannis was the one who took after him in that."

"He seems awfully grim."

"His parents died when he was young and he grew up alone," Rhaella paused in her efforts and looked away. "Sometimes when I look at him I can't help but think of Jon." Her purple eyes closed in anger. "Rhaegar is such a bloody fool. Why can't he see that Jon is his _son?_ He hasn't a mother but at least he could have had a father to teach him about the world, a father to sit with him, to hold him and tell him stories…."

Oswell remembered the first and only time Rhaegar had held his son, after the trident when they had all returned to King's Landing. Arthur Dayne himself brought the babe forth to present him to his father. _That was one of the worst moments in my time as a Kingsguard,_ Oswell reflected sadly. Rhaegar had looked utterly heartbroken when he saw the little prince, bundled up in his blanket. The future King had howled in grief and hastily handed the babe back to Arthur before storming from his solar and locking himself in his chambers for several days afterwards. When he came out he declared that the child would not be raised at court.

"Has he ever spoken to you about it?" he found himself asking. "Did he speak of Jon at all?"

Rhaella's mouth pressed into a thin red line. "Of course, when the word spread that I had a third grandchild I went to him and we spoke at length about it. He did his utmost to ignore the very existence of the boy altogether, but when I pressed hard enough….he was despondent, as if the child had been an insult to his very person. Can you believe that? A child barely a month old and his own son and he thought that Jon was an offense!"

"He has you," Oswell pointed out. "You love the boy like he was your own son."

The She-Dragon gave him a soft expression. "When the wet-nurse put him in my arms….I don't think there is a more divine moment than that, he had my heart."

Oswell found himself nodding. "Lyanna Stark was…lively. She should have been Dornish for all the ferocity to her and she fought tooth and nail bringing that babe into the world."

"She was a child," reflected Rhaella, "A victim of Rhaegar's affections and the plotting of my forefathers. We should have stopped it before it got out of hand."

_You should have smothered Aerys in his bed a good long time before that._ Oswell wondered how many lives would have been saved if only he and his sworn brothers had just looked away back when the king had first begun showing his mania. _Probably thousands…._

The Queen had let her hair down and began combing it, her curls like that of spun moonlight. With only a light dress on and sitting in such a relaxed manner Oswell found his gaze wandering down the dragon queen's body. _She fills that dress quite well…._

"Did you know that Rhaenys has started writing to Jon," her voice was full of pride. "You should have seen his face as he read it; I've never seen him more excited. She is such a sweet child, and frightfully smart. Mayhaps I can get Elia to let her come visit once we settle in at Summerhall."

He could just see the faintest space of bare flesh when she moved her arm up…

"Ser Oswell?"

"Hmmm…"

Suddenly he felt her eyes upon him and forced himself to look up. There was a knowing smile upon her full lips. "My eyes are up here, Ser."

"I…uh," he felt a wave of shame wash over his face. "I'll…uh, stand guard outside."


	8. Letters

** A/N: Thank you everyone who followed, favorited and left a review. You guys keep me inspired!**

**ASHARA**

"Isn't it a lovely gown?" she asked, astonished by the way the silks looked in the sunlight.

"More lovely than any other at court, my lady," Wylla stood with her hands on her hips, a woman with breast and hips ample enough to make her waist seem small. When Wylla laughed, she filled a room with warmth. "It's all silk and Myrish lace, and the colours! You will be the jewel of King's Landing."

Ashara smiled. "You're a flatterer of the highest sort!"

Her old friend swatted her affectionately. "I merely speak the truth, flattering or unflattering as it is. I'll tell you an earful of nasty stories about Lady Toland and the half of Yronwood's mob that have infected the court if you like."

"Oh come now," Ashara rolled her eyes. "Those old feuds need to be put to rest now."

The bad blood between Yronwood and Martell had gone back centuries to the time of Nymeria's landing and had gotten worse in recent years when Oberyn Martell had killed Edgar Yronwood and caused a minor dispute among the lords of Dorne. House Dayne sided with Martell and earned the scorn of Yronwood and all those with close ties to them. The only thing that had stopped the madness was when Doran Martell sent his oldest son to foster with his enemies. _But that has not stopped the enmity…_

Wylla just shook her head. "I cannot for the life of me understand why Queen Elia allows them among these halls."

Ashara frowned. _Yronwood may not like us, but they at least have a firm grip on their sanity._ She had heard a rumour that Rhaegar had taken to visiting the Queen again, gallant and devoted as any husband ought to be, but also continued to make his plans with Tywin Lannister. There was even talk amongst the more gossipy members of court that he planned on naming the old lion as the Master of Coin.

"You should forget about them," Ashara finally said. "They're not worth your time and energy my friend, now help me do up these laces, I mean to speak with the Queen."

As Wylla's deft fingers did their work she began humming a low tune, something that Ashara had heard her singing back at Starfall. "How fares Ser Arthur?" the former wetnurse asked mildly.

"As boring as usual," Her brother had been spending more and more of his time with the King and had not been able to see Ashara beyond formal occasions. "What have you heard?"

"Well only what the gossips say-" Wylla paused and frowned. "I'm sorry, my lady. It's all probably nonsense anyway."

"Now you have me going…what do you mean?"

Wylla's hands ceased their efforts. "It's been said that the King has gotten into one of his moods again, confiding in only Ser Arthur and Ser Gerold. People talk, my lady….and they wonder if this is so different from last time."

Ashara turned around to face the other woman. "_Who_ exactly is saying this?"

"Well," Wylla looked hesitant. "Lady Yronwood…"

That gave Ashara pause, but she dismissed the concerns anyway. "Well then you have your answer, clearly it is just Lady Yronwood trying to stir the pot and make Elia look bad." She forced a smile. "Now come you gossip-hound, I have to see the Queen."

* * *

"Her grace is busy at the moment," one of Elia's ladies in waiting told her as she approached the Queen's solar.

Ashara did not even bother to hide her displeasure. "Busy with _what _exactly?"

The young slip of a girl looked down submissively. "Her Grace is holding a meeting with the Grand Maester; I was told that she wasn't to be disturbed."

_She would want me there!_ Ashara almost screamed at the girl, but then her moment passed and she simply pursed her lips and walked away. She had walked no more than ten paces when she heard a smaller set of feet hurrying after her. With a smile she saw Princess Rhaenys at her side.

"Lady Ashara," greeted the young princess. "Are you looking for mother?"

The young girl was the perfect amalgam of her parents' best features, a true marriage of Rhoynar and Valyria. Her colouring was that of Elia and her kin, yet her face held the unnatural beauty of her father. There was wisdom in her sharp eyes, the fierceness of a dragon tempered by the radiance of the sun. _All of Rhaegar's intelligence but none of his temperament._

Ashara beamed at the girl. "I was, but it seems she's in with the Maester."

Rhaenys nodded. "I needed to see her as well," a smile crossed her face. "Would you like to wait with me until she's ready?"

"I'd be delighted."

The princess took Ashara's hand a led her into what appeared to be Rhaenys own little library of sorts, with selves of books lining the walls and a large writing desk sitting straight in the middle of the tiny room. Ashara felt overwhelmed by it all and felt her breath hitch as she looked at the titles of books the princess had chosen to read from. Histories and lore that went back hundreds, and in some cases thousands of years sat opened on the girl's desk, alongside a dozen crumpled leafs of paper.

"Mother said I couldn't get a proper solar until I'm older," she explained. Her face turned into a frown as she examined the whole room and all its books. "When I am queen I shall have my own library built."

Ashara laughed. "You'll get lost in all those books."

Rhaenys mouth pressed into a line. "That's what mother says. She says I'll turn into uncle Doran if I keep reading so much."

"Well," Ashara replied, smoothing out the girl's brown hair. "You're much prettier than Doran."

The princess hummed in agreement and then padded over to her desk. She dipped a quill into a nearby inkwell and began slowly writing something out, pausing every now to ponder something before scratching out another word. Ashara could see the focus on the girl's face as she went about with whatever task it was that she was doing. It reminded her of Oberyn in a way. _Though Oberyn was never as innocent as Rhaenys, even as a child…_

"What are you doing sweetling?"

"I'm trying to write a letter," she replied without looking up. "But I'm not sure what I should say."

Ashara couldn't help but smile. "And who are you writing to? Your cousins back in Dorne?"

There princess hesitated for a moment. "Jon."

For a moment Ashara thought that the princess was referring to Lord Connington, but then realization dawned upon her and it was all she could do to contain the shock from her face. As far as Ashara was aware, neither of Elia's children knew much about their sibling, only that he existed and was not a part of their lives. "You're…writing to Jon? What brought this on?"

"I just…." Her voice trembled. "I see Mama and Aegon all the time, and Dany and Viserys too sometimes when they come to visit, but I never see Jon. He's my _brother_, and I never get to see him, it's not fair!" There was a steely resolve in the child's eyes, an iron determination. "Mama said he's not allowed to come see us and no one will take me to see him, so I've been writing him letters …but I don't always know what to say, and I don't want him to hate me."

Ashara put her arms around the princess and kissed her cheek. "How could he hate you? I'm sure he's grateful, knowing that he has a big sister who cares about him. As long as you keep letting him know that you love him and haven't forgotten him, then he'll love you for it sweetling. "

"You won't tell my father will you?" she asked suddenly, fearfully. "He wouldn't like me talking to Jon."

_If he tried to stop you then I would make it my duty to see him suffer for it. _She forced a smile. "It'll be our secret."

There was a cough behind them, and when Ashara turned she found Elia leaning against the doorframe, a sad mile on her face. "What are you two scheming about?"

"Nothing," Rhaenys replied quickly. "I was just showing Lady Ashara my desk. Are you feeling better Mama?"

Elia smiled, a beautiful sight, but one that Ashara had come to know as a mask she wore for the sake of others whenever her health was troubling her. "Much better, sweetling, the Grand Maester made it all better."

Ashara wasn't sure if Rhaenys actually believed her mother, the child was much more intelligent than most people thought, but she gave Elia a dazzling smile nonetheless. _In a few years she'll be the jewel of the Seven Kingdoms,_ Ashara just hoped that Rhaenys wouldn't let the praise go to her head. _The Seven know I was a vain creature before I met Ned…_

"Have you been waiting long, Ashara?" Elia asked mildly as she watched Rhaenys put away her books. "I didn't think it would take so long."

"Its fine, Rhaenys was keeping me more than occupied."

Elia gave a tired nod. "Come into my solar, there's something we need to discuss."

The Queen led the way down the corridor. Ashara could hear the rattle of Grand Maester Pycelle's chain as he shuffled off, no doubt to tell the king all about his lady wife's latest ailment. She had never liked the old man, and more than once wondered if it would not have been wiser if they had brought a Maester from Dorne with them to see to Elia.

They sat down by a window, bathed in the warm light of the afternoon sun. Ashara was the first to speak. "Did you know about the letters?"

"Yes," Elia said with a sigh. "One of the Maesters came to me when he discovered it. I read it, resealed it and then allowed it to be sent. Of course she likes to think that I don't know."

"And you're fine with it?"

Elia shrugged. "It makes her happy and she does not ask for much."

"She wants to meet him," Ashara pointed out. "Will your indulgence go that far?"

The Queen closed her eyes for a moment. "With that boy….I'm not sure what angers me the most; the fact that he wasn't mine, or the fact that Rhaegar caused all that misery only to discard him."

"But surely it's better for Rhaenys and Aegon to know their brother?" Ashara struggled to keep her tone neutral. "When Aegon rules as king, would it not be better that he has a close bond with his brother? The Blackfyre rebellions would not have been half as bad if Aegon the Unworthy's children loved each other. You have to think about the future Elia."

Elia gave a tired nod of agreement. "You're right, I know. In truth I'd not keep Rhaenys away, I don't want her to feel like Doran did when Oberyn and I were growing up." She must have seen the flash of guilt cross Ashara's face at the mention of the Red Viper and leaned forward. "What's that look for Ash?"

_Gods, I had hoped that I wouldn't have to tell her._ But Elia was no fool, and once she set her mind to something it was near impossible to make her forget it. Ashara let out a breath. "I…may have spoken with your brother…"

"May have?" Elia gave her a sharp look. "What did you do Ash?"

Ashara squired in her seat. "I…asked him to come to court, but I had no choice Elia! We are surrounded by enemies here and they grow every day! I had to do something!"

"Seven Hells Ash!" Elia's nostrils flared with rage. "You know as well as I do that if Oberyn of all people came here that we'd have blood in the streets, and my children….Ashara I will not put them in danger, not when this place is stirred." The Queen shook her head angrily. "I shall have to write to him, and pray that he hasn't left yet."

"Elia please, you don't-"

Before Ashara could get another word out, the chamber door sprung open and in walked Ser Jaime Lannister, face smeared with blood and dirt, his beautiful golden hair soiled with filth. His eyes were wide with panic. "Your Grace, my lady, you had best come with me to collect the children... immediately."

Elia rose from her seat. "What is it Ser Jaime, what has happened?"

The Lannister gave a shiver. "There's been an assault on the King's life."


	9. The Lions Den

** A/N: As always, many thanks to everyone who left a review!**

**RICHARD**

Richard Lonmouth closed his eyes, licked his smiling lips, breathed in deep through his nose in anticipation and raised the skin. It was the greatest moment of his life, the familiar cooling wetness on his lips, the slightly sour taste on his tongue, the soothing movement of his throat as he swallowed. _Was there ever a creation more divine than the sweet nectar of Dornish Red?_

Bryce cocked one eyebrow and frowned slightly at the knight from his saddle. It was a look that Richard had seen a thousand times before on a thousand different faces, something that had existed from the dawn of time at the very moment when the first man developed a sense of expectation of the world; disappointment.

_So what if he's disappointed? I spent five years as a studious and dutiful knight and where has it gotten me?_ Richard couldn't rightly say for sure, but wherever it was he wasn't enjoying it.

He had not set out with the goal of drinking whilst on an errant for the king, but it quickly became the most sensible option presented to him when he considered what Rhaegar had asked of him. If anything he found that the journey was moving a lot quicker and his thoughts were less plagued by his king's sad words.

"I can see the Inn, Ser," Bryce was standing up in his stirrups, pointing just ahead. "It looks smaller than you described though."

Richard gave a tired nod as he put his wineskin away. "It was rebuilt a few times after the war, each time they had less to spend on it."

Indeed it was a small thing. Four walls made from mismatched stone, a partially demolished chimney and a stable that looked like it could take perhaps three horses at best. When Richard first laid eyes on the place it had stood twice as big, with room enough to give more than a dozen men lodgings should the need require. Back when he was a squire it seemed like a good place for travellers. _Time makes fools of us all…._

As they dismounted a stableboy emerged and gave them a long, sceptical look. He looked to be no more than ten, a pasty little thing that was all skin and bones. With an odd reluctance he took the reins from Richard and Bryce. "I'll want them fed and watered, can you tend to them?" Richard told him.

"Aye, I'll see to it." he replied bitterly before spitting into the hay.

Richard and his squire exchanged a look of confusion before leaving the boy to it. At this hour he expected the inn to be crowded, but the common room was almost empty save for three men sitting hunched over by the Innkeep, who looked at Richard with wide eyes. Whilst two of them sat drinking, the third had his hands down a young girl's bodice. Richard could tell plainly that she wasn't enjoying the man's attentions. A fourth man sat in the corner, eating a bowl of oats noisily.

"I'll have ale and the boy will have water," he told the Innkeep as he sat himself down by an empty table. "And we'll both have something warm in our bellies."

The Innkeep looked about at his other guests, worry in his eyes. "We…uh…we have a rabbit stew."

"Stew will be fine," Richard said with a dismissive wave.

The old man hesitantly moved away from the others and went about pouring Richard's drink. As he brought it and Bryce's cup of water over Richard noticed that he was shaking. When he looked up the man winced and quickly scurried off to fetch the food. Richard quickly turned his attention to his ale and took a deep swallow. _The blessing of the gods, _he thought, _nice brown ale with the promise of a warm meal._

Bryce didn't seem to share the knight's joy, and continued to watch the three men as they continued to pester the young woman. The squire's hands were clenched and his jaw was set, his whole body tense with anger. "We should do something," he whispered. "That girl doesn't like it."

"She's a barmaid," the knight replied with a shrug. "Sometimes patrons get touchy when in their cups. Nothing will come of it beyond the fondling."

The boy didn't agree. "They don't look drunk to me, Ser."

By that point the Innkeep came out with two bowls of warm stew and sheepishly placed them on the table. Richard reached into his pockets and dropped a small collection of coppers onto the table and began eating without a seconds thought. The old man scrapped up the coin and quickly hurried back to his place, yet as he did one of the other patrons grabbed him by the arm.

"I think you have something for me," he sneered, wine stained down his jerkin. "Every man's got his taxes to pay."

The old man whimpered, but handed over the coin.

Bryce was squeezing his spoon so hard that it began to bend. "We should do something Ser, he's _stealing _from that Innkeep!"

Richard frowned and thought back to his time in the King's chambers. _Why should I help some stranger when what Rhaegar asks of me would likely see this old man and his daughter just as dead and their lands burnt to ash?_ He couldn't tell the boy that of course, so instead just gave an artless shrug.

"Well if you're not going to do anything then I will!" he hissed, rising from the table.

The knight caught his arm. "Bloodying your sword isn't the way to solve all of the world's problems."

Bryce just shrugged him off and walked over to the men, face intent. The others barely looked up at him as they continued to laugh amongst each other and it wasn't until he was right in front of them, fists clenched that they paid him any mind.

"What you want boy?" one with the wine stains asked.

"You stole coin from that old man," the boy's voice was steady; he didn't look half as scared as he felt. "And you're distressing this lady."

The one with his hand down the woman's bodice gave him an ugly look. "I ain't doing anything this whore don't enjoy," he gave her a pinch and then laughed. "Wait yer turn boy."

Bryce took a breath, the first sign of unease, and then looked at them again. "Leave the lady alone, give the man his coin back and we need not make any more of this."

"We serve Tywin Lannister boy," Wine stain told him. "And if we want to collect a little tax from his people then we will. Run off before I shove my knife through yer skull."

From his seat Richard slowly washed down the last of his stew with another mouthful of ale, feeling almost contented. In the corner of his eye he could see the third man walk around the back of Bryce, no doubt planning to catch him unawares. The knight picked up his ale, took a long, slow, swallow and rose to his feet. He pointed to them each of the sigils the bore in turn. "Houses Greenfield, Serret, Kenning. You are all in service to them?"

The men eyed him warily then, and Bryce managed to take the girl's hand and lead her over to her father. Richard could see them all, twitching for a fight. The one with the wine stains spat and took a few steps forward. "What do you care?"

"I care," he drawled, "because I want to have the exact names of those responsible when I tell King Rhaegar that you have been brutalizing peasants."

Wine stain spat again. "The king ain't here."

Richard rolled his eyes and then pointed to the fourth man, who was in the midst of downing a second bowl of oats. The sigil on his shield and the man himself looked very familiar to him from his time at Harrenhall. "Ser Amory Lorch," he announced loudly. "Surely you recognise the king's own former squire?"

The man stopped wolfing down his meal long enough to squint his piggy eyes over at Richard for a moment before realization flashed across his face. "Ser Richard?"

"The same," his eyes flickered over to the other three. "Tell your men that if they don't apologise to my squire I'll have them all sent to the Wall."

Lorch frowned, but quickly turned a snarling gaze at his men. "Do as he says!"

There was a grumble of half-hearted and reluctant string of apologies and Richard couldn't help but smile. "Now, if you would return this kind Innkeep's coin, and apologise to his daughter then this matter can be settled."

The men gaped at him in disbelief and when they saw his serious expression they turned to Lorch who only gave them a scowl. Reluctantly the wine stained brute handed over a fistful of coins, which the old man took with trepidation and disbelief, whilst the other directed an apology at the young woman's feet.

"Good," Richard said. "Now, here's how we're going to precede. Tonight I and my squire are going to purchase some rooms to sleep in. Our horses will be tended to, our beds will be of a decent standard of comfort, and in the morning our breakfast will be warm. After such time we will push on to do the Crown's business at Casterly Rock," he turned to Amory Lorch. "Now…..when Bryce and I arrive we would very much appreciate it if Lord Tywin was forewarned. I think perhaps the crown would consider it a favour if you and your men got on your horses and rode to Casterly Rock and let the Old Lion know I'm coming."

Wine stain scowled. "What? At this time of night?"

Lorch stood from his table, walked a few paces and gave the man a backhand before turning to Richard. "Aye, Ser….I shall see to it."

Richard's eyes were hard. "See that you do it now."

There was a moment of tension, but the men knew a threat when they saw one and hurried from the warmth of the Inn quickly enough. Yet Richard did not remove his hand from his sword until he had heard the sounds of their horses galloping in the distance.

"Get me another drink."

* * *

The men that built Casterly Rock lacked nothing in skill and everything in modesty. The walls, carved deep into the stone, had stood since the Age of Heroes and never once fallen to an enemy, and because of that fact the Lannisters had seen fit to adorn every single aspect of them with some form of gold embellishment. The great hall practically glowed like a forge with all the gold that adorned the walls, lion statues siting guard by the pillars, golden tapestries hung about, golden finery on the few Lannister kinsmen gathered about to match the gold of their hair, even the chair up on the dais that the Lord of Casterly Rock sat upon was made entirely from gold.

"Ser Richard of House Lonmouth," the herald called as the knight and his squire crossed the wide floor, their pace measured, watched by guardsmen at the walls, men with cross-bows to left and right, swordsmen at the plinth and by the door.

Five years had wrought no change in Tywin Lannister. He sat in his high-backed chair, his doublet the colour of blood edged with gold. Cold eyes watched them from the shadow of his brow, green flecked with gold.

"Lord Tywin," Richard said. In his mind, he had made his speech a hundred times but somehow looking at the Lord of Lannister in person stole his words from his tongue. The silence stretched on between them. "I hope that you are-"

"-Ser Richard," he said, his voice as cold as his eyes. "You have not travelled all the way from the capitol to bring me your hopes and I'm sure that his grace would not want us to waste his precious time. I think we can dispense with the pleasantries."

_Easy now,_ he told himself._ This man would not hesitate to have you killed should you give him cause._ Richard swallowed uneasily. "My Lord, his grace the king would like to invite both you and your daughter, the lady Cersei, to his nameday feast in a weeks' time," he hesitated at the next part, knowing full well that he would likely be damning the kingdoms. He took a breath. "He also would like you to know that he….accepts your proposition."

There was a slight twitch of the Lannister's mouth that Richard took for a smile which left not a moment later without warning, snuffed like a candle. He rose from his golden throne and examined the hall. "Get out," he told them. "I'll speak with Ser Richard alone now."

And they went; the few pompous Lannister cousins, the old Maester, and all of the guards. One after another they marched from the hall. Richard looked at Bryce and gave him a gesture. The boy looked as though he wanted to argue, but one glance from Tywin Lannister was enough to silence any misgivings he might have had. The doors closed behind him with a dull clang of gold on gold.

Tywin Lannister made a slow descent from his dais, each step echoing through the large empty room. Richard suddenly felt very powerless as the taller man approached. His eyes were hard and his mouth set into a frown. "King Rhaegar spoke of you in his letters, ser. He told me I could trust you." There was a slight sneer in the way he said the word 'trust' that put Richard on edge. "Since you have been travelling it is unlikely that you have heard, but there has been an assault upon the king's person."

The air went from Richard's lungs. "_What?"_

"A few days ago someone within the Red Keep attacked his grace whilst he was playing that harp of his." Lord Tywin's sounded slightly annoyed. "The attacker somehow managed slash at the King's throat before Ser Lewyn cut him down. Grand Maester Pycelle was able to stop all the blood from escaping his grace's royal throat and he is, to my knowledge resting in his chambers under heavy guard. Jon Connington continues to sit the throne in his stead and the court is none the wiser."

_Gods be good,_ Richard ran a shaking hand through his hair. He suddenly needed a drink. "If I might ask, how do you know this then, my lord?"

"My son wrote to me the day it happened," Tywin told him with a deep frown. "He and Ser Arthur came upon the scene. It was Jaime himself who saw to the safety of the prince and princess. It is a most distressful time for them."

"Do they have any idea who it might have been?"

Tywin Lannister looked at Richard with his cold eyes. It seemed as if there was a whole winter in those eyes of his, and nothing else. "They found a vial on the dead man; it contained a small amount of a toxin that is derived from the venom of desert scorpions. I'm told that it is fast acting and that this man swallowed most of it before making his move against the king."

"Poison?" Richard frowned at the idea. "Surely you don't mean….."

"Aerys was a fool to marry Rhaegar to the girl in the first place and now that folly has cost his son." Lord Tywin turned to look out at the sea from one of the large windows. "I am certain that this is but the first of many such attempts; word has it that the Red Viper is on his way to the capitol as we speak."

Richard could certainly see Oberyn Martell trying to kill the king, yet something told him that it would have been a far more brazen attempt. _And he would never send another to do his own dirty work._ "Why would the Martells do such a thing?"

"Come now," Tywin seemed disappointed. "Let's not talk in games. Rhaegar has informed you of his plans with me and my daughter, why else send you here with his message and not some raven? Surely you knew the outrage it would have caused amongst the lessor houses?"

The knight swallowed uneasily. "But how would they even know? His Grace has been careful."

"There is obviously a traitor amongst the King's circle feeding information to the Queen or her brother. Ser Lewyn himself mayhaps." The Lannister's eyes grew narrow at the thought. "We'll need to leave for the capitol immediately."

Richard's eyes widened. "M-my lord? Would it not be more prudent to wait for the king's nameday?"

"No, the time for patience ended when the Martells made their move." Lord Tywin set his cold eyes upon Richard again. "We shall leave for the capitol tonight, and release the Dornish stranglehold in the court. And when that is done, Rhaegar shall wed my daughter."

Richard closed his eyes. _Gods be good, I need a drink…._


	10. Expectations and Rumours

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who left a review, they keep me going!**

**OSWELL**

"Isn't it beautiful?"

Oswell felt the breath leave his chest as he laid eyes on the castle before him. He had seen Summerhall plenty of times with Rhaegar and Arthur, and it had always seemed to be little more than a haunted ruin of black stone, a grave marker to the Targaryen days of glory. What stood before him now was much, much different.

The stones no longer seemed black. That was the first thing he noticed, the lack of ash and smoulder. Summerhall's new foundations may be built upon the ruins of the old, but Oswell could not see any remnant of that, just a basic shape. The remainder was pristine stone that almost shone like polished marble. Much of the vines and plants that had become overgrown were cut back into beautiful shapes and a garden of flowers and fruit trees that were a marvel to look upon stood out proudly. _House Tyrell's contribution_, he told himself as he scanned the rest of the castle. The three-headed dragon of Targaryen was displayed proudly over its considerate walls, a triumphant statement to all that the dragon's nest had been rebuilt.

"It's so big!" marvelled Princess Daenerys, her head sticking from the window of the wheelhouse. "Don't you think, Ser?"

Oswell did not take his eyes from the structure before them. "It is certainly a grand sight my princess."

"It used to be much bigger," Ser Barristan remarked quietly, his sad blue eyes focused ahead. "I remember some of the tourneys that King Aegon and his sons used to hold here. It always used to remind the realm of times past, back in the days of Daeron the Good and his successors."

"Did you ever meet King Daeron?" Daenerys asked innocently.

Barristan the Bold gave her a warm laugh. "I am not _that_ old princess."

Oswell considered his sworn brother. Ser Barristan was well into his fifties, and had been competing in tourneys since he was a boy, knighted by King Aegon the Unlikely himself and the man who slew the last of the Blackfyre pretenders. It was on rare moments such as this that Oswell was reminded that he was in the presence of a legend. _Aemon the Dragonknight of our time…_

"King Jaehaerys once said that this was the greatest place he had ever known," the old knight said wistfully. "Would that he was here to see it now."

"Rhaegar used to say that was place was where he was saddest," Oswell frowned. "Yet he also said it was where he could find that most peace."

Barristan gave a tired nod. "His birth place."

There was an excited giggle from within the wheelhouse and princess Daenerys' voice carried out as they all trotted along. "Did you hear that Jon? Your father was _born_ here!"

Oswell could not hear the response, either the boy had spoken much more quietly than his aunt or he had not answered at all. He doubted that any response would be as enthusiastic as the little princess had hoped.

"I heard Prince Aemon once hosted a tourney here," he said casually to his sworn brother. "Did you attend?"

Barristan gave a nod. "Aye, it was a lively event as I recall."

"How was the prince himself?"

The older knight gave him a strange look. "I only saw him briefly after the fire, but in his youth he was a kind man. Her grace had best hope that he is still the same."

Oswell doubted a man could remain kind after being set ablaze, even less so after years of living amongst corsairs and cutthroats, but said nothing.

The gates opened up for them as they approached, the entire courtyard filled with servants, stableboys, smiths, cooks, maids, a kennel master, a septon and large group of guards and knights. A new Maester had even been sent from the Citadel, an older man with kind eyes. Not for the first time Oswell wondered how the Queen Dowager had managed all of it. He and Ser Barristan dismounted and allowed their horses to be taken away whilst they stood ready and vigilant for any signs of danger. Behind them the carriage door opened and the little princess practically bounded out, staring at the group of people standing before her with wide eyes. After Daenerys came Prince Viserys, standing stiff and formal as if he were in the Great Sept of Baelor itself. Finally the Queen stepped down, Prince Jon clutching her hand. She looked about and those in attendance fell to their knees, as she stepped forward.

Rhaella raised her hands and the procession arose with them. Among them the old Maester made his way over, his chains rattling with every step he took. "My lady, I am Maester Symon."

The Queen Dowager bowed slightly to him. "Maester, it is a pleasure to have you here with us."

"I only do my duty," he gave her a kind smile. "I am sure that after such a journey that you'll want to see your rooms?"

Rhaella gave a brief nod. "Shortly, though I would know those of my household." She suddenly turned to Oswell. "Ser, would you be so kind as to ride out and escort our guests back to the castle?"

_And I just sent my horse off._ Oswell kept his face devoid of emotion. "Of course my queen."

He went off to the stables and found his horse munching away on a bag of oats. The stable boy gave him a confused look as he put his saddle back on the courser and mounted up once again. He urged the horse into a gallop as he rode out towards the second wheelhouse on the horizon. The Tyrell men waved to him and Oswell waved back as he approached. He trotted over to the window of the carriage and rapped on it with his knuckles. A pair of brown eyes greeted him.

"Ser Oswell," Willas Tyrell gave him a smile. "Might I ask how the travels go?"

"Smoothly, the Queen awaits you at Summerhall."

The heir of Highgarden gave a nod and then called for his coach to pick up the face. Oswell kept up to a trot beside him, his guard down now that the rest of the royal family were safely inside of the castle walls. "I must confess I am a little nervous, Ser." Willas gave an uneasy laugh. "The Queen Dowager is an intense woman."

"She is," agreed Oswell. "But you needn't worry; this is mostly a casual affair."

Willas looked relieved. "My grandmother had it drilled into my head that I must be wary."

_Yes, the Queen of Thorns would say that wouldn't she?_ Oswell had several retorts on the tip of his tongue, but chose to swallow them. "There is nothing to be wary of. Simply answer her questions, take your look at the castle and try to uphold your manners. If you do that then you might be home by the morrow."

"I…I have never met any of the royal family," he confessed.

It was only then that Oswell saw him for the boy he was, and tried to be more supportive. "Well you are in luck, as Queen Rhaella is the most even-tempered of them. She will return kindness with kindness."

Willas nodded in understanding, and then laughed lightly to himself. "You are nothing like they say, Ser."

"And what do _they _say?"

"That you're a man with humour black as midnight and just as cruel," the smile did not waver from the young man's face. "I can see they were nothing but malicious lies."

_I see that damned bat that adorns my helm and chest has done nothing for reputation, _despite the years since he took up the white cloak he still could not escape all the follies of youth. He forced himself to smile. "Oh, they're absolutely right; you just caught me in a good mood."

* * *

That night he had his duty to stand guard outside Prince Jon's chamber whilst Barristan stayed with the Queen and her Tyrell guest. He remembered a thousand other nights when he had done the same for Rhaegar's other two children back at the Red Keep; most nights were crushingly boring, but every now and then the little princess would try and sneak out and he would have to escort her back with a gentle word. _I wonder if she still troubles the others that way._ Ser Gerold would certainly not tolerate such a thing, but Ser Lewyn would likely indulge the girl, who was after all his own kin. _The old man is nothing compared to what he was, yet his oath demands that he serve until his death…_

He often wondered how long the old Dornishman would last in his duties. _Surely it would not be for much longer,_ Oswell thought. _He'd die taking more than a few with him, but in the end he would not survive another battle._ It was a sobering idea, and made Oswell think of his own future, his own death. _Let it be in battle and not as an old man in my bed…_

A soft cry came from within the room. Oswell turned his head and tried to listen more carefully despite his helm muffling most of the sound. There was silence for a beat, and then another soft cry. He took a breath, looked down the hall to see if anyone was coming and then entered into the chamber. The light was bad and his helm was obstructing his vision, but he could see an outline of the boy sitting up amongst his sheets.

"Are you alright my prince?" he asked softly as he approached.

The boy looked up at him, his face was red and his grey eyes were puffy with tears. "I want Grandmother," he sobbed.

Oswell pressed his mouth into a thin line. He had little and less experience comforting frightened children. With a sigh, he removed his bat helm and set it on the ground before sitting at the foot of the large bed. "She is busy at the moment my prince, what troubles you?"

The boy gave another sob and looked around at the room. "I don't _know _this place."

"It's to be your home," he said softly. "There is nothing here that can hurt you."

His grey eyes looked up at Oswell with a sadness that was so like Rhaegar that he was almost startled. "I had a dream that they would leave me."

"Why would they do that my prince?"

"That's what Viserys said," he admitted between huffed breaths. "He…said…my father left me at Dragonstone and…that ….that Grandmother was going to take him and Dany back _home_!" After that the children was wracked with another bout of sobbing, his little body shaking with the effort.

Oswell found himself more angered than he thought he would be. _That little worm will be hearing from me._ Somehow he smothered his anger and instead turned it into something positive. He removed his gauntlets and his mailed gloves and put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Your uncle Viserys is an idiot, my prince. You shouldn't listen to anything he says." His voice softened, like the way his brother's used to when he spoke to his children. "I know for a fact that your grandmother would never leave you alone, not even the Gods themselves could keep her away…." He didn't know exactly what it was that made him speak next, but he did so anyway. "And I'll always be around to protect you."

The boy quietened at that, and his sobbing came down to almost nothing. His chest huffing slightly as he took in several shaking breaths. "Do you promise?" he asked after a time.

_Promise me he'll be kept safe…promise me._ "I promise."

"Can you….can you stay here, please?"

Oswell gave a tired nod. "I'll stay right here until you go to sleep."

Jon seemed to breathe easier at that and slowly eased back into his pillows, clutching at the furs around him. His grey eyes watched Oswell for a good while, but eventually they grew heavy and the child's breath grew soft and even.

As quietly as he could with his armour, Oswell moved away from the bed and made for the door. His hand was on the handle as it opened to reveal the Queen standing in the hallway, a curious expression on her face. He brought a finger to his lips to silence her. "He just got back to sleep," he whispered.

Rhaella frowned. "What was he doing up this late?" she asked softly. "He was put to bed hours ago."

"A bad dream," he replied. "Prince Viserys' has been….putting notions into the boy's head."

Her brow rose. "Such as?"

"You leaving him here and returning to Dragonstone," he could not contain his frown, "or something of that nature."

Rhaella's purple eyes shone with anger. Oswell noted that they were not unlike Rhaegar's during the Battle on the Trident when he set out to face Robert Baratheon. "I shall have a very long talk with Viserys."

She walked over to his bedside and watched the rise and fall of his chest. In the blink of an eye the rage had vanished and tenderness taken its place. After a moment she leant over the bed and gently kissed the boy's cheek. "Sleep well my little Prince of Summerhall," she whispered quietly. He stirred a little, but settled back into whatever dream he was in with a smile on his face.

"How was the Tyrell boy?" Oswell asked. "He seemed amiable when I spoke to him."

Rhaella gave a small nod, not taking her eyes from Jon. "He's a lot more intelligent than his oaf of a father, and lacks the ambition of his grandmother. Mace suggested that I send Viserys to Highgarden to squire but I can already tell that that would only lead to disaster. I think we'll simply betroth him to Mace's daughter and keep on Willas here. I think he'll do well under your guidance."

"Hmmm?" Oswell was taken aback. "_My_ guidance? I thought it was decided that Ser Barristan would take the boy on as a squire?"

"I changed my mind Ser," she replied with a smile on her lips. "He'll be much better off with a younger knight to teach him. And besides," she grinned. "If I'm lucky, some of his manners will rub off on you."


	11. Prisoners of Grief

**A/N: As always, many thanks to all who left a review!**

**ASHARA**

Their prison was a soft one.

Ashara found a level of comfort in that idea, for the children's sake at least. The Maidenvault was a truly beautiful place, created at the pinnacle of artistic expression in the Seven Kingdoms during the time of Baelor the Blessed. There were Myrish carpets on the floor, wine to drink, books to read, even a harp to play. They all had featherbeds and rooms of considerate size that smelt of sweet herbs and flowers. Yet it was still a prison.

Every time a servant came forth to do some task, bring them food, change their beds, empty their privy pots, add new books to their small shelves, they were always escorted by a member of the Kingsguard and watched for even the slightest gesture of hostility. In some ways Ashara found the White Cloaks to be a reassuring presence, they had always reminded her of Arthur and his warm smiles, yet as time went on it became clear that the Kingsguard were just as much their gaolers as they were protectors and not once did she see her brother or Prince Lewyn in their presence.

_What has Rhaegar done to them? Surely he would not harm Arthur, his closest friend and Prince Lewyn is his uncle by marriage, he is not the sort of man to do such a thing like that to those he cares about._ Still, the thoughts nagged at her mind like a rash that would not go away. _Why doesn't he at least send in Arthur to explain it all to us, surely there is no harm in explaining?_

At first the children had thought it to be a grand adventure and played along with the extended stay, yet as days went on and they were refused to leave they grew more and more anxious. "Why can't I go outside and play with Robb?" Aegon asked them on the third day of their imprisonment. "He'll get lonely by himself."

Elia had smiled at the boy, pushed his long silver hair back and gave him a sweet smile. "Robb will be just fine sweetling, why don't you go play with your sister?"

Rhaenys seemed to have understood the gravity of the situation as things went on, her dark eyes following the servants as they came and went, staring at the Kingsguard in some form of silent challenge. _She knows that this is no game; perhaps she knew that after the first night._ The princess had not given voice to her thoughts though; instead she focused on reading all the books she could get her hands on, going through them with a stormy determination.

"I'm worried about her," Elia confided on the fifth night, after the children had been put to bed. "She knows something is wrong."

It was all Ashara could do not to laugh. "You're worried for _her_? Elia, that girl is best parts of you, Oberyn and Doran writ small. She'll get through this."

"She is still a child Ash," the Queen reminded her. "She and Aegon don't need to be a party to any of this."

Elia's prayers were answered on the sixth day, when Ser Jaime Lannister arrived in their chambers in his dazzling white armour and an uneasy look across his face. He looked incredible unsure of himself in that moment. He gave a slight bow when he saw Elia. "Your Grace," he said softly. "The prince and princess are to come with me; I'll see them escorted back to their chambers."

"I'm not going back to my room," Aegon announced stubbornly. "I'm going to see Robb."

Jaime smiled at the boy and held out his hand. "Aye my prince, we'll go and get the Stark lad."

With a gleeful smile the little prince happily clasped the gilded hand and was practically bouncing with joy after having spent so long confined. Yet when the knight turned back to Rhaenys, the girl just gave him a defiant stare. "What about my mother and Lady Ashara?" she asked, lifting her chin in challenge. "Are they coming?"

"Your mother and the lady," he said in a careful tone. "Have to stay here for now."

Rhaenys just shook her head. "Then I'm staying too."

The white knight looked torn. On one hand he had been ordered to bring the children back with him, but on the other he didn't seem to have any desire to forcibly drag a screaming child away from her mother. Ashara wasn't sure she could watch it if it came to that. Before Jaime did anything Elia knelt down beside her daughter, taking the child's face in her hands. "Sweetling, you should go with Ser Jaime. I shall be perfectly fine here with Ashara."

"But mother," she insisted. "I don't want to leave you."

Elia leant close and whispered something that Ashara could barely make out. "Do this for your brother; you need to look after him."

Rhaenys looked hurt, and there were tears glistening in her eyes, yet she gave a sad nod and reluctantly walked over to Ser Jaime's side. The knight tried to give her a reassuring smile and nodded his thanks to the queen before leading the children from the room. Rhaenys looked over her shoulder at them before the doors closed and as soon as they did Ashara swept her best friend into an embrace and calmly whispered assurances whilst the Queen cried out what few tears she would allow herself to shed.

* * *

Days came and went with very little to differentiate one from the other, and with each passing hour trapped inside the Maidenvault, Ashara began to grow more fearful and not just of Rhaegar's wroth. Elia seemed to lose herself as the days went by, her olive skin growing more and more pallid, her energy diminishing even when it came to the most menial of tasks. It grew to the point where Ashara slept in the same bed with the Queen in fear that she might perspire in the night.

Then came a day when her friend's gentle hands woke her, shaking her by the shoulder. "Ash," Elia whispered. "Quickly, wake up. Rhaegar has called for us." When she opened her eyes she saw Gerold Hightower standing over their bed, his aged face looking impassive. The sight of the White Bull stirred her completely.

Ser Gerold had brought in maids and allowed the two of them to bathe and wear fresh clothes. Once that was done he stood waiting for them by the doors, his blue eyes glancing over their refreshed forms just once before his training took hold and his gaze turned back towards potential threats.

Ashara had thought that they would be taken to the King's solar to meet Rhaegar's fury. Instead, Ser Gerold escorted them to another chamber that Ashara had not visited in almost ten years; Rhaegar's old chambers from his time as prince. They found the Protector of the Realm seated by his old harp, a dark brown blanket wrapped about him. In all her years knowing the man, Ashara had never seen Rhaegar Targaryen looking so weak, so pained, so _human._ His skin was milk-white, there were rings around his purple eyes but what was most shocking was the long curved scar that ran across his throat, angry and red like some desert snake. Seeing him that way made Ashara feel a pang of sympathy for the man.

When Elia saw the state of him she rushed over to his side. "By the Seven, are you alright?" she asked gently as she ran a soft hand over his cheek and down the side of his neck. Her finger traced the scar delicately and the King closed his eyes whilst she did so. "What's happened Rhaegar?"

He took a long and drawn out breath, and when he opened his eyes they were clouded with pain. "I've been trying to finish a song," he muttered as he pushed the harp aside, his voice raspy. "The first time I saw a harp I was little more than a boy, at a tourney in the Stormlands. The musicians were all visiting from Volantis and they played like the gods made flesh. Do you remember, Ser Gerold?

"Aye," replied the White Bull. "They were court favourites from King Jaehaerys time. They made Queen Rhaella and all of her ladies in waiting cry with their soft voices and deft fingers. You sat bewitched by the sight of them."

Rhaegar smiled wanly. "Wait outside, Ser."

Gerold Hightower gave a stiff nod, turned on his heel and took his leave.

"I had the children brought out the second I knew they would be safe," he told them when the Lord Commander had gone.

_And yet you left us to linger?_ "Why did you not free us as well?" Ashara demanded.

"I released the children because I knew they would be safe," he repeated, his tired eyes staring at her. "They have always been the ones to whom my concern goes to first."

Elia grasped her husband's arm. "How are they?"

"Aegon has been running rampant through the gardens with that other boy," he said with the lightest of smiles dancing across his face as he pictured his son at play. The smile steadily lost its energy and turned downwards into a sad frown as grief consumed his face. "Rhaenys is…angry with me," he turned to his wife. "Do you remember when she was little? Every night she would sneak out of her chambers and come to mine, asking me to sing to her of some song..." he shook his head. "Where does it all go?"

The Queen frowned. "You kept her locked in the Maidenvault for days and didn't once come to explain to her why it was necessary. You didn't even explain it to _me."_

Rhaegar looked distant, his gaze unfocused and his voice faint. "She can hate me if she wishes. That is her right; I can live with her hating me. Though I do not think I could live with her in danger, and since I have only gotten from bed two days ago, I couldn't come to see her."

"Why didn't you at least send Arthur?" Ashara asked suddenly, anger flaring. "He could have explained it all and would have put us at ease."

"In case you don't notice," the king drawled, lifting his head up and exposing his throat. "Someone tried to kill me, and they almost succeeded. I could not part with Arthur, not when I had enemies to kill."

There was something about his tone that Ashara didn't like, it was oddly aggressive in a way that Rhaegar never was. He flinched away from Elia and stood from his chair, his lean frame sending them under shadow as he crossed the room over to the open window. _He looks like he has gone a year without sleep, yet that has not taken his power away…_

"Who did this to you?" Elia asked, taking a step closer.

"When I first met you, I was warned that your brother was a dangerous man. Some even said that he was the most dangerous man in the Seven Kingdoms…." He turned to Elia slowly. He studied her face for a long moment before he said, "Why? Tell me that Elia. Tell me why?"

It seemed as if the whole world held its breath then as Elia looked at her husband in confusion. "_What?_" she managed finally.

"I have never once raised a hand against you, nor have I ever taken you to my bed without your consent. I have always heeded your advice, I've allowed you to have a say in how the realm is run….I have loved you," His voice faltered, and Ashara suddenly realized he was struggling not to cry. "I am the father of your children….why do you want me to die?"

Elia stared at him in shock. "No…Rhaegar, I haven't-"

The king removed a small vial from within his doublet. "They found this on the man who tried to cut my throat; a Dornish poison used to ensure that the assassin would never live to reveal his master. Ser Lewyn's delayed response, carefully hidden under the guise of infirmity..." He gestured out the open window. "And I have reports that Oberyn is riding for the capitol with an entourage of warriors…..did you really seek to seize control of the city so soon after my death?"

"I never had a thing to do with any of this!" Elia insisted. "And Oberyn-"

"I invited Oberyn!" Ashara didn't realize she had spoken the thought aloud until it was too late. _Oh gods, this has all been a mistake! I should never have sent anything._

Rhaegar watched her for a moment, his gaze enough to make her flinch. Then he frowned. "Ashara, you have long been Elia's best friend…I do not doubt you had your part in this." He looked at the both of them sadly. "Varys told me everything about how my father died. A sudden illness that got progressively worse despite all of the Grand Maester's attempts? I should have realized long ago what you two had done."

"I openly confess to killing your father," Elia said, a defiant gleam in her dark eyes. "He was an evil man who would have destroyed the entire realm if he had been allowed to live. But this….to murder you, even after you shamed me, even as you plot to shame me _again_….I had nothing to do with it."

A single tear rolled down Rhaegar's cheek, his voice broken. "I wish you could understand why I do the things I do," he closed his eyes, clenched his fists at his side. His voice grew raw with frustration. "I wish I could give you my dreams….I wish you could know what it is like to see an ocean of blue, unliving eyes staring at you, I wish you could know what it is like to hear the wails of all the mothers in Westeros screaming for help as their children freeze in their beds….I wish you could _all_ see the hell I'm trying to save you from."

_Madness,_ thought Ashara, suddenly fearful of her life. _He is just as insane as his father._ Elia, however, stood her ground, as fearless and radiant as the sun. "I did not try and kill you."

"I don't believe you," Rhaegar shook his head sadly. "But you needn't worry, I won't sink to your level."

Elia took another step forward. "What do you mean?"

"I shall give you want so much," his face became cold and impassive. "Since you wish to be free of me, then you shall have it. Both of you are hereby banished from King's Landing, exiled to your Dornish homelands, where you are to stay for the rest of your damned lives."


	12. Great eyes of Jelousy

** A/N: Big thanks to everyone who left a review, they keep me inspired!**

**TYGETT**

"Beautiful, isn't it?" said Gerion, a big grin across his sunburnt face.

"Is it?" muttered Tygett. He'd been thinking about the ground, and how he might use it, and how an enemy might do the same. It was an old habit from his time marching against the Reynes, how to use the ground as a weapon. He had to learn much and more whilst on that march, delving into any and all books on warfare that he could get his hands on.

The hill was ground that even an idiot could have seen the use of. It sprouted alone from the flat valley, so alone and so smooth that it almost seemed carved by man. Anyone who stood at its peak could see the entire valley from every direction at all times, making it a perfection vantage point as well as a steep battlefield that would be easily defendable. _It's also rich in gold deposits, _he thought bitterly._ Lannister gold…_

In the time of his father, they would have allowed such a place to be taken by the outlaws, but Lord Tytos was in the ground. Tygett peered up, shreds of cloud shifting across the deep sky, now one memory, now another.

"Beautiful," Gerion said again.

"Everything looks pretty in the sunlight," said Tygett. "If it was raining you'd call it the ugliest hill in the whole damned world."

Gerion just laughed at that, a warm sound full of good nature and joy. "You might be right brother, but it isn't raining."

Tygett forced himself to frown. Humour was something that he had learnt from a young age to despise, because more often than not it would be used as a veiled way to insult his father and his house. Yet when it came to Gerion things were different, his little brother had a way about him that could make anyone smile. _Except for Tywin…_

He opened his battered myrish glass and peered towards the camp that had been set up just by a small river near the foot of the hill. The water flowed on fast, flashing, sparkling, shallows streaked with shingle, a few men were standing in the water searching for bits of gold whilst others went about standing guard. All in all he counted around thirty men, each armed with decent steel and armour. Tygett had under his commander a hundred red cloaks, all of whom he had led against the Tarbecks. If push came to shove then they would fight to the last.

"I don't think you have much to worry about brother," Gerion took out an apple from within his cloak and slowly began to peel it with his dagger. "That lot couldn't sneak up on a corpse."

Tygett frowned. "It never pays to underestimate your enemy."

"You worry too much," he began tossing the apple skins out towards some crows, and watched as they tore into it. "Far too much."

"Someone has to." But he knew Gerion had a point, the outlaws weren't going anywhere soon and if he continued to obsess over them he'd break. Every hint of movement would have him starting, birds flapping, deer grazing on the fields. The tension would be his undoing if he let it. Maekar Targaryen had once written that a man who wore his armour to bed was unlikely to rise in the morning. Tygett could see the meaning. _Though it's a shame, a man can't choose not to worry…_

Gerion finished his apple and flicked the core off into shrubbery, wiping his sticky fingers over the lion on his chestplate. Tygett felt a twitch of annoyance at his lack of respect but said nothing; instead cast his eyes over to his men. They were all going through drills, checking equipment, digging latrine pits. He was certain that if he had the element of surprise he could take the outlaws with minimal casualties; it would only be a matter of timing and surprise.

"How quickly do you think it would take to ride down there?" he pondered aloud.

His brother glared down the valley, considered, then laughed. "An hour on foot, with good light to guide us, probably half that if we pressed our chargers."

_Half an hour._ Tygett liked that little. _In half an hour they'd have heard us and be properly defended with their camp or worse yet, retreated up that damned hill._ "That won't do, it'd give away our surprise."

"Then our best option would be to slowly creep down through the brush on foot," Gerion grinned at him. "It'd be slower but safer."

He pushed out a breath and gave an angry nod. "We'll march as soon as possible, and then wait amongst the woods until nightfall before we come upon them."

* * *

Tygett jerked his sword back and the outlaw gave a wheezing grunt, face all squeezed up with shock, clutching the wound in his chest. He took a tottering step forwards, hauling up his short sword as if it weighed as much as an anvil. Tygett frowned at the man's impertinence slashed him across the throat, and the chest on the backswing. He wasted no time watching the man fall, and turned to observe the carnage that his men had wrought on the outlaw camp. Tents burned in effigy, horses ran about mad with terror, men screamed and begged and cursed, yet the red cloaks paid none of it any mind, simply moving forward like rock down a mountain side.

As he calmly inspected the devastation looking for challengers to feed his blade, he caught sight of a man weeping over a corpse. Whether it was his friend or his brother or even his lover, Tygett could not say, but the man wore a red cloak and he wasn't even trying to hide his tears. _A moving sight,_ he thought,_ if you find such things touching._

There was a point where Tygett would have been no different. Tywin had called him foolish when he was a boy for showing such emotions. He'd cried as they laid his mother to rest, and years later when his father joined her. He'd cried when his friend Addam had been stabbed during the Tarbecks first attempt at defiance. The night when Darlessa had birthed a stillborn daughter, he'd gone off to another side of the castle and wept for his dead child and his grieving wife.

He knew why he'd allowed himself to cry during those times, but he couldn't for the life of him remember how it felt to do it. Castamere and Tarbeck Hall had robbed him of that, and Tywin's growing legend made sure to salt the wound.

"My lord!" Tygett turned and was face to face with his cousin Stafford and half a dozen men-at-arms. His cousin gestured towards two men in particular, who were holding a badly beaten woman within their armoured grasp as she spat and cursed them. Stafford coughed before straightening up in his golden armour. "We have taken a prisoner, my lord."

"Why does this concern me?" Tyg asked with a frown. "I'm sure you've taken dozens of prisoners, you needn't ask my permission for every one of them."

Stafford's ugly face blushed with embarrassment. "It's not that my lord, it's just that the men say that this one's a noblewoman."

Tyg turned his attention to the woman, looking at her carefully. Her cheek had a blemish that was turning an ugly blue, while her left eye had been swollen shut and her lip bleeding profusely. The dress she had been wearing had been torn in places near the bodice. He could tell plainly that she had been attacked, and perhaps someone had even tried to defile her virtue yet he ignored that for a moment and stared at her long auburn hair, and the deep blue of her eyes. _Gods be good, one of the Tully girls…._

He kept his face a still mask and turned to his men. "Who found her?"

A portly young man came forth, bearing scratch marks near the patchy beard on his cheek. "It was me, M'lord. I found her and brought her 'ere."

"And you tried to rape her." he said flatly.

The man's brown eyes grew wide with surprise. "No, M'lord, you see I was-"

Tygett held up his hand to silence the man and turned to Stafford. "Have this man tied to a tree and have him whipped, thirty lashes should do it."

"What! No, please M'lord!"

_The impudence!_ He rounded on the man. "Perhaps you feel that I am being unfair? How about I just have the men take your balls instead?" when the man did not replied Tygett growled in anger. "_Forty _lashes, Stafford_."_

Once they had taken the crying man off he turned back to the young woman. She met his eye in outward defiance and he could not help but feel impressed by her courage. _Which one is she? _ He had not seen either of the Tully girls for many a year and couldn't for the life of him figure out why they would be travelling with the rabble he was chasing. "My lady…you have my apologies. Such a treatment is unbecoming of those serving under a lion banner."

"You punish your men for trying to rape one girl yet you do nothing when the others slaughter a dozen men?" She spat at the ground. "Your lion banner is meaningless."

Tygett grunted in amusement. "These men were robbing travellers coming into the Westerlands and stealing Lannister gold. I'd say they got what they deserved," he looked her up and down. "Though what a daughter of Hoster Tully is doing with the likes of them I have no idea."

She glared at him, as though the mention of her father's name was an insult to her honour. "You Lannisters are all the same. Where was your concern as the country tore itself apart?"

_Hidden in the Rock, under Tywin's command,_ he thought bitterly. Instead he turned the question back at her. "Where were _you_, my lady? Hiding at Riverrun whilst your husband declared war against good king Rhaegar?"

"I don't have husband!" she hissed.

Tygett gave a brief smile. "Ah, so you are Lady Lysa. I suppose that explains why you're living outside the king's law," he gestured to the men holding her. "Take her back to a tent, have her washed and get those wounds looked at."

He watched as they led the young woman away, pondering what he would make of his new hostage. The decent thing would be to give her back to the Lord of Riverrun or even send her off to the Vale of Arryn with her dead husband's kin. _What would Tywin do?_ A thought struck him then, so sweet that he almost laughed with joy. _I'll send her to King Rhaegar…that should aggravate Tywin plenty…_

* * *

By the next morning, all remnants of the camp had been burnt out into naught but a few dark cinders and pile of dead bodies. Tygett was just sitting down to break his fast with Gerion when a man burst into his tent with word of riders approaching.

"Whose banner do they carry?"

The man looked as though he sat on a thistle. "Frey."

Tygett and his brother exchanged a glance and then waved the man off. They continued to eat their oats in content silence after that, neither of them bothered by lack of conversation. Tygett had often fought loudly with Tywin whilst Kevan tried to play peacemaker between them, perhaps because of that he had grown fonder of Gerion and his content silences, enough even that his occasional jokes did not annoy him so much.

The flap of the tent burst open after a time and in walked their sister Genna, her weasel of a husband trailing after her. Tygett glanced up from his food and gave them a brief nod of acknowledgement. Gerion beamed at them. "Genna! Emmon! Come sit down, help yourselves."

Genna moved to the head of the table, while her weakling of a husband sat by Gerion, as far from Tygett as he could get. The bald little man was short next to Gerion, and tiny next to Genna who he noticed had gained even more weight since last they spoke.

"What brings you to our fair camp?" Gerion asked happily, licking his spoon clean. "The view is rather good if you enjoy that sort of thing."

Their sister snorted. "I could give a fig about the view, Gerry. I come bringing news from Tywin."

Tygett tensed up. "He doesn't come himself? Well that's a _surprise_."

"You know Tyg," she said, using his nickname. "Envy isn't attractive in a man."

He gave her a stony glare and went back to finishing his oats. Gerion just laughed that musical laugh of his and threw his arm around his sister and goodbrother. "Tell me then, what has big brother been doing in our absence?"

"Betrothing Cersei to King Rhaegar for one," she replied with a grin. "They're expected to be married by the end of the month's turn, and Tywin hopes to be replace that Connington man as Hand soon after."

Tygett clenched his teeth so hard his jaw hurt and he let out a low growl. "_What?_"

The others all turned to look at him cautiously, Emmon even flinched away. Genna spoke as though she had not heard the seething rage in his voice. "Tywin has arranged it all, the match he always wanted."

"The King already has a wife," Gerion pointed out. "And unlike Lyanna Stark this one is alive and kicking."

Genna dismissed the thought with a wave of her jewelled hand. "Targaryens can take more than one bride, and Tywin has already ensured that the Dornish will not be a problem."

"And how, sweet sister, did he manage that?" It was a struggle for Tygett to keep his voice even. "The Vipers are not sheep."

"Oh Tyg," she said with a laugh. "They're _all_ sheep, and besides…the children will serve as hostages in case Oberyn Martell tries anything."

_That bastard has it all figured out doesn't he? _ Tygett felt sick to his stomach, the rage bubbling and churning so thick that he was like to choke on it. _Always trying to be the damned best, always trying to show off…._

Gerion poured himself some wine. "So why tell us? We've just been clearing out criminals and lowlifes, it's been good fun but we haven't really been in Tywin's good graces."

"He wants us all back together for Cersei's wedding, as a united front."

Tygett considered his sisters words, the gears in his mind slowly turning. He thought of the Tully girl in his possession, her kin back at Riverrun. He thought of the Martells and their children, and Tywin's ambitions. An idea came upon him, so sudden and so clear that he couldn't help but allow himself to smile. _This time you've overreached brother, this time your ambition will be the death of you…._


	13. Messengers

**A/N: Big thanks to everyone who left a review, you rock!**

**OSWELL**

"How about hawking? Do you like hawking?"

Oswell shrugged. "I never had much time for it."

Willas Tyrell, while an eager and well-mannered young man, was beginning to wear on Oswell. For so long he had simply moved at his own pace, free to operate in any way he chose and even when he donned the white cloak, he had been given a certain amount of liberty with how he chose to work with his sworn brothers. Having a squire following him around, overeager to please, was stifling his style.

The white knight gazed out the window of his tower and watched the sun rise. He had one foot up on a solid stool, and Willas went about buckling his leg armour on. "Back home I'm fond of hawking," he told Oswell as he fought to get the greave closed. "It's quite big back in the Reach, a family hobby."

Oswell gave a grunt when the boy closed his greave but otherwise said nothing.

Willas got the breast and back, dented in a dozen places, from the rack and held it open while Oswell slipped into it. "In fact my own grandfather died while he was out hawking, rode right off a cliff," he went on as he began to do the shoulder buckles. By the time Oswell could flex his arms and move freely in his armour he had heard enough about the Tyrells to last him a lifetime. He attached his sword to his belt and adorned his cloak, making to leave the chamber.

"Ser?" the boy asked.

The white knight's gaze crossed his, he raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

Willas flinched. "I…er…what do I do while you're on duty?"

_He just wants to help,_ he told himself over and over. _The boy does not mean to be a nuisance._ Oswell looked about the room. "Have my other chestplate scrubbed, and that extra helm of mine, polish that. Afterwards….go practice your archery for a bit. I'll be on duty until tomorrow morn, so you can do as you wish until then."

To emphasize his point he grabbed his helm, its snarling black bat standing in stark contrast to the white of the metal and pulled it down over his head and swiftly turned from the room.

* * *

The Queen sat comfortably in a great black oak chair, her silver-gold hair was glorious in the morning sunlight, and Oswell wondered if perhaps she had taken the time to have her chair placed exactly where the sun would shine the brightest. Most of her attention was on a man who was gazing at her with the kind of worship that a dog would reserve for its master.

Rhaella lifted her hand ever so slightly and gestured for the man to come forth. Oswell had seen him once or twice before though the name had long since escaped him. He was a tall and handsome man with sunburnt skin and coal-black hair just beginning to grey.

The man approached, gave a deep bow and then looked up with a solemn face. "Your Grace, the word I bring from the capitol is….not good."

"I would still hear it, Ser."

There was a moment of hesitation on the man's face, an uneasiness that even had Oswell worried. He took a breath before speaking. "Your Grace….King Rhaegar has banished the Queen Elia and her lady Ashara from the capitol. There has not been a clear indication why, but at this point it would seem that there was….an attack on the king's person."

Rhaella's eyes widened and she leant forward. "What attack? When did this happen?"

"If rumour is to be believed…. A week ago," the man swallowed uneasily. "Some say it was a Dornishman who tried to slit His Grace's throat, under order from Oberyn Martell."

The Queen sat in still silence, her purple eyes clouded with something. Oswell thought there was something unnaturally beautiful about her calm expression, yet the better part of him knew to be afraid. "How is…the King doing?" she asked after a time. "Has he been tended to?"

"I….yes, my Queen," the man was growing nervous as well. "He was bedridden for days, and there have been rumours that His Grace may never sing again."

"And he had such a beautiful voice…." Rhaella sighed. "What of my grandchildren? Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys, how do they fare?"

The man gave a positive nod. "They are being treated gently, My Queen." he pulled out a stack of letters from within his cloak, holding them up high. "Letters from Princess Rhaenys to both yourself and the princes and princess, I was able to get them before the Kingsguard grew suspicious."

_My sworn brothers,_ Oswell was beginning to think that he could only say that about Ser Barristan lately._ At least I have the best of them…._

Rhaella's purple eyes flickered over to Oswell and then over to the letters. Wordlessly he took the bundle of papers back to the Queen and watched as she took them into her dainty hands. There was something deeply reverent in the way she pressed the letters to her chest, as though she held within her hands something fragile and precious.

Her mask of calm quickly fell back into place. "Ser, you have done well. You have my thanks and the gratitude of House Targaryen."

The man gave a deep bow, and Oswell thought that if he had a tail it would have surely been waging. "I live to serve Your Grace."

Oswell watched the man leave the great hall and frowned as another stepped out from within the shadows. This one was a Dornishman, though he stood a head taller than any other man in the great hall, with blue-black hair and smooth, unscarred olive skin like the descendent of Nymeria he was. And his eyes were blue. Oswell had never seen a man with such dark blue eyes.

Despite being in the presence of the Queen and despite there being a member of the Kingsguard ready to cut him down on the slightest sign of violence, the man was fully armed and armoured. His eyes met Oswell's for just a moment, and rather than madness or violence, the dark eyes held amusement.

"Queen Rhaella," he greeted with a smile and slight bow. "I hope the news of King Rhaegar's ailment has not eroded your noble patience, or soured your taste for news?"

The Queen's face went cold, but her eyes twinkled and she gave the slightest smile. "Good news or bad, I shall endure. What brings a…." her silver-gold eyebrows rose, "_warrior_ from the Stepstones all the way to Summerhall?"

"Well, on the one hand, I was to deliver you a message," he grinned at his surroundings. "And on the other I was asked to inspect the new place. Glorious, just as my lord said."

Rhaella had a pained expression. "It is my hope that perhaps he may come to see it with his own eyes, and that he would see the family he left behind."

"My lord is a cautious man," the big man suddenly looked uncomfortable. "He sends the likes of me to speak on his behalf in places where his own safety and…privacy, cannot be assured."

"He does not trust me?" As she spoke, her pale face gathered colour of old ivory to the colour of new red rose. "_Me?_" Rhaella was silent, and for a moment she looked like a sad young maiden rather than a powerful She-Dragon. "I…does he not remember how things were? What have I done to cause such offense?"

The tall Dornishman raised both hands. "My Queen, I am rude in my careless use of words. My master holds you in the highest of regards, in fact there are few he speaks of with such affection. What I meant was that at this time, here and now, he does not find travel to be safe. Though…" he looked about, clearly not trusting any of the knights or servants about him, before removing a letter from within a pouch on his belt. "_This_ may alleviate your concerns."

_Another letter? It seems I'm to play the castle raven today._ Oswell walked over to the giant, staring up at him curiously, his face reflected on the man's polished chestplate. He held out his hand for the letter. The Dornishman gave him a thick-lipped smile and handed him the letter. "You're a big boy."

The Dornishman threw back his head and laughed, loud and long. "Every small man needs a big man to stand behind him."

Oswell frowned, and thought of Ser Jaime's deformed brother. "Aemon the Exile is a short man then?"

"You mistake my meaning," the man chuckled. "It is I who stands small before _him_."

"I…see," Oswell frowned in confusion and then returned to his queen's side. The letter in his hands was writ on an odd leaf of paper, its colour almost a sandy brown and though his face was partially concealed by his helm, he could still smell the faintest hint of fruits and spices coming from it.

Rhaella stared at the Dornishman, a hopeful look on her face. "Might I offer you the comforts of Summerhall? We can have the cooks prepare you any dish and serve you the finest wines in the realm."

The tall man beamed up at the Queen but shook his head. "Your Grace is too kind, but alas, I cannot. My lord has bid me to travel to Storm's End with all haste. Lord Stannis has a letter of his own awaiting him that must be delivered."

"You must be overjoyed to be able to meet such a charming man," Oswell drawled.

The Dornishman gave a snort. "Aye," he said. "It's like a grand dream come true."

* * *

The Queen returned to her solar with an added spring in her step, and a smile dancing on her lips. Oswell, her constant shadow, found he actually had to move in a brisk walk to keep up with her, which was no mean feat whilst in full plate armour. The solar itself was a large room that almost glowed with all the sunlight that seeped in through the windows, the rays of light coming down exactly behind the chair at the Queen's large oak desk. Rhaella sat in her place, bathed in the light like some Valyrian goddess of old.

Oswell stood silently at the door way and watched as the Queen eagerly opened her collection of letters. He rolled his shoulders as best he could, trying to ease the stiffness out. _How does Ser Barristan do it?_ _The old man still moves as fluidly in his plate as Ser Jaime, and that one's a third of his age!_

Rhaella looked up from her letters. "What are you doing, Ser?" there was a bemused smile on her face as she waved him over. "I think we can relax our formalities when it's just the two of us."

"Good news from the little princess I hope?" he said as he pulled up a seat opposite her. "I pray that she has been spared the worst of this ugliness."

The She-Dragon gave a sigh and gently tapped one of the letters on her desk. "She and Aegon were able to say their goodbyes to Elia at least, and Rhaegar has not told them about the attempt on his life or the Martell connection, but she is a smart child. By now she knows it was Rhaegar's fault that her mother has gone." A light smile reappeared on her face. "But other than that, she is doing well, and she has her heart set on coming to Summerhall."

"Would Rhaegar allow it?" Oswell was genuinely curious.

Rhaella waved the thought away. "I can handle Rhaegar. Besides, he'll be too busy preparing for his name day feast and Tywin Lannister's arrival. I dare say with the stress he's going to be under he'll relent when I ask it of him."

"It'll do her some good," Oswell agreed. "Even for a trained soldier like me it can be a suffocating place. I can fight a sword that's coming at me, but schemes, rumours, poisons, daggers in the dark? It takes a different sort to thrive like that."

"Not everyone is made for the intrigue of court," Rhaella said thoughtfully. "Aerys certainly wasn't, my father…for all his wisdom lacked the constitution for it long term. My uncle Duncan chose to wed a commoner rather than sit the throne, while my uncle Aemon chose to flee the realm itself. We all had so much faith in Rhaegar, but how could we not? He was the one bright spot to come out of the fire that destroyed this place."

Oswell drummed his fingers against the oak surface of the desk. "Is that why you chose to rebuild this place, to make up for the guilt of Rhaegar not living up to those who died here?"

Rhaella smiled sadly. "I stopped feeling guilty for the actions of others a long time ago. I had them rebuild this place back to some semblance of its former glory because things need to change within my House, and Summerhall has long been the seat of great Targaryens."

They sat silently for a time, because she was in deep thought, and he knew better than to interrupt. After a little while, she forced a smile and then took up the letter from the Dornishman and broke its seal. It did not escape Oswell's notice that her hands shook slightly as she begun to read its contents, he wondered what the exile could say to render her as nervous as young girl. Oswell tried to collect everything he knew about the old prince, but came up scarce. _No one ever sings tales of him,_ he mused. _I know half a dozen stories about Prince Duncan the Small and wise King Jaehaerys, but the third one? Oddly unremarkable…_

"Why is it that this man's letters are so important to you?" He winced at his own forwardness. "I apologise, but it….has my curiosity."

Rhaella looked over at him from her letter, and brows rose in confusion. There was a frown at the corners of her mouth as she considered him and her answer. For a time she was silent, her purple eyes vulnerable in a way that he had scarcely seen. "I know what people say of me," she said after a time, in a voice that was little more than a whisper. "I know how they all thought of me as some sad, tragic victim of Aerys' abuse. They probably think me powerless, and I won't lie Ser, in those nights where his hunger turned towards me and I called out for the likes of you and your white brothers to save me, I did think myself powerless." Her eyes shone with anger. "But I am _not_ powerless, I am _not_ a victim. If there is anyone I want to know that, it is my father's brother."

"If I offended you," he said quietly. "It wasn't my intension."

The Queen waved the thought off and sat back in her seat, the letter forgotten. "The last time I saw him, Rhaegar was only a few days old and Summerhall a flaming wreck. Even Dragons can miss their kin, Ser."

Oswell opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the sound of the chamber door opening, and instantly got to his feet, hand on his sword. Maester Symon came in looking anxious and huffing, his chain rattling with every breath he took. He looked at Rhaella pleadingly. "My Queen, we have guests waiting for you, just arrived."

Rhaella frowned. "More messengers?"

"No my lady….I….." the old man bit his lip. "Queen Elia and her companions seek an audience with you."

* * *

Queen Elia smiled when she saw Oswell approach. It was a pleasant sight, but one that filled the Kingsguard with mixed emotions. While he had always enjoyed Elia's company, Oswell thought himself to be closer to Rhaegar than he ever was with the Martell woman, something that he assumed would have soured her opinion of him.

Despite all sense of propriety, Elia reached out and took his hand and held it as though it were gold his armour was made from and not simply polished steel. "Oswell," she beamed. "It has been too long."

He gave her one of his easy smiles and murmured "Your Grace," but otherwise said nothing as he took in her state. Elia had never been healthy. Her frailty was perhaps her most well-known feature, yet when Oswell looked at her he saw an injury beyond the simple ailments that afflicted her life constantly. She smiled wide, and was attentive, yet he could see that her eyes held a great sadness, a wall of pain held in check by an extreme sense of self-control.

Rhaella gestured to the dining table that had been set up amongst the gardens, and without waiting for her good-daughter, sat down with a thump. She waved over a page that promptly set down a pitcher on the table along with two cups. "I suspect we'll need wine for this conversation."

Elia sat in her chair and sipped from her cup, hands shaking slightly. "He's taken my children away."

"What did you tell them?" Rhaella asked softly.

The younger woman bit on her lip for a moment, eyes focused on her drink. "I told them that I had to go away for a while, and that I would see them again in time." Elia's eyes grew dark for a moment, as black as a viper's. "I _will_ see them again. He cannot stop me."

"He can certainly make it enormously difficult for you," Rhaella took a patient sip of wine. "Dorne alone cannot hope to fight him, surely you understand that Elia."

"I understand that he has taken the two most important things in my life," she hissed. "One way or another I'll see that corrected."

Rhaella raised her eyes, they were empty and hard for a moment, until a second later they softened in understanding. "I know the love a mother feels for her children, but you must tread softly. A war would not grant you Rhaenys and Aegon."

"I don't need a war to get them back," Elia said ominously.

"Were his accusations true?" Rhaella leaned forward, purple eyes on Elia's dark ones. "Did you try and have Rhaegar killed?"

They sat for a moment, glaring at each other.

Elia shook her head, eyes growing glassy. "I didn't, I wouldn't. How could I do that my children? How could I look them in the eye afterwards?"

_Oh please, _Oswell had watched the Martell woman manage that very same act for the last five years with Rhaegar and had no doubt that she could accomplish the same with two small children. _Tears are a woman's weapon,_ he thought. _And few wield their weapons as well as this one…_

"I have heard it said that your brother is three days ride from here," Rhaella said casually. "Mayhaps it would be best if you intercepted him before he goes off and gets himself killed."

Elia gave a solemn nod. "I hope to leave by nightfall, and then I and my brothers shall have a long talk together about the future."

_Along with how you can best control the throne through Prince Aegon,_ the more he focused on Elia the more Oswell found himself seeing past her pain, and saw the viper that laid coiled behind the mask of frailty. _This is not a woman to be trusted, even for us who seek to end this folly with Rhaegar._

Rhaella leaned forward and took her gooddaughter's hand. "I pray that you'll see reason before this grows into something more horrible than it is."

"Grandmother,"

They all spun about at the little voice, and found Prince Jon looking over at them with his sad grey eyes. "Maester Symon won't let me read the books about Valyria in your solar, may I read them? Please."

Rhaella smoothed back one of his raven locks and gave him a pleasant smile. "You may."

Queen Elia stared at the child with a transfixed expression. Her dark eyes were locked upon the boy's solemn face, emotions combatant with one another. It occurred to Oswell that the Queen had not seen her husband's other child since that first day in King's Landing. "You…like reading?" She finally managed.

The boy gave a shy smile, "Yes, my lady."

"My daughter likes to read too," she swallowed uneasily. "You remind me of her."

Jon's eyes grew wide with childish curiosity. "Is she here with you my lady?"

"No," Elia said, her voice growing sharp with deadly promise and her viper eyes glazing with tranquil rage. "But she'll be with me soon."


	14. Dragons and Liona

**A/N: Sorry for the slight delay, I've recently moved houses and haven't had much time to write. But It should be smooth sailing from here on out! **

**As always, thanks go to everyone who left a review. They keep me inspired!**

**RICHARD**

"We shall be in the capitol by the morrow,"

Lord Tywin held all social occasions within his tent as though they were grim war councils. Richard often spent them sitting tight-lipped and too frightened to speak out unless someone else directly spoke to him first. Though there were not many people invited to dine with Tywin Lannister, usually just his brother Kevan and his daughter Cersei. _The future queen…_

In his time with the Lannisters, Richard had come to see the woman who marry Rhaegar, and found her beautiful beyond measure. Her hair was like spun gold, and her eyes were like twin orbs of wildfire. She moved with an alluring confidence and Richard found himself staring at her more than once, like the lioness she was. The thing he noticed most was how lively she was, and wondered how Rhaegar would take such a woman; while Queen Elia was an attractive woman with a sharp wit, hers was a more subdued beauty, whereas Lady Cersei was much more forward in most matters, an aggression to her nature. _The Stark girl was the same…._

Ser Kevan leaned forward with a humble smile. "It's been some time since either my brother or I have been in the capitol, mayhaps you could help us settle in? Who could be a better guide through court than a friend of the king?"

"Of course," Richard replied, allowing himself a small smile. He slowly took a sip of his mulled wine and then sat the gilded cup back in place thoughtfully. "I can make introductions."

Lord Tywin nodded his approval, green eyes staring at them all with sharp intelligence. He pulled a letter seemingly out of thin air, the corners of his mouth twitching in what might have been a barely contained smile. Lady Cersei's golden brows rose in confusion and even Ser Kevan looked at a loss as the Warden of the West read out the letter. "It is the King's decree that Queen Elia of House Martell has hereby been banished from court to live out the remainder of her days in Dorne."

Cersei's smile grew large, her eyes shone and she was practically bouncing in her seat with joy while Ser Kevan had a pleasant smile on his face. Richard could only sit in silent shock._He's sent her away? His own wife of so many years?_ The thought of open hostility between the couple worried Richard more than he had previously considered. _Rhaegar may be inconsiderate, but never has he been hostile. Something must have angered him beyond the point of reason…_

"So what happens now, father?" Cersei's voice was soft and melodious, filled with unbridled satisfaction. "When will I and the King be wed?"

The Lord of Lannister's eyes were like two unreadable chips of emerald. Whatever flash of pleasure that had allowed itself to appear on his face was swiftly smothered underneath layers of firm authority, leaving his face a stone mask. "You will wed at the appropriate time, when it is most suitable for all involved."

There seemed to be something the old Lion was not saying, an unspoken threat or message that only his daughter was privy to. It made Richard feel incredibly uncomfortable. They ate the rest of their meal in relative silence, the news stewing within everyone's mind as they braced themselves for what would be in store for them in the capitol on the morrow. Richard was unsure of how to proceed now that he kept company with lions. He enjoyed their hospitality in the present only because he served their interests and because of his friendship with Rhaegar, but the king was not himself and his favour could easily turn into scorn at the wrong word, and Richard would find himself being eaten alive.

_I need to speak with Lord Connington,_ he realised. _Only the current Hand can talk sense into Rhaegar and he holds no love for the Lannisters. Yes, Lord Jon is my best hope…_

After they had finished their meal, Tywin gave a wordless sign of dismissal and Richard's relief was palpable. He was not halfway back to his own tent when he heard a voice from behind him, a soft hand on his arm.

"Ser Richard?" Cersei Lannister looked up at him with bewitching green eyes and one of the most beautiful smiles he had ever seen in his lifetime. "Would you care for some company? It'd be a pity to spend such a lovely night alone."

He raised a brow in confusion, but couldn't refuse the company of such a beautiful young woman, especially after spending so many days on the road. "My lady, I would be honoured."

Cersei graced him with another smile and linked her arm within his own as they slowly walked through camp. Richard was surprised by how warm her hands were; in fact her whole body seemed to be pleasantly warm at his side.

"You've been friends with King Rhaegar for a long time, have you not?" she asked in a curious tone. "What is he like?"

He pursed his lips. "Did you not meet the king during your time at court when your father was Hand?"

"Oh," she smiled bashfully. "That was so long ago, and in truth I barely got to see his grace."

"Well, King Rhaegar is a quiet man," he told her as they walked, their pace casual and carefree. "He is fond of reading. I have never known a man to read so many books as the King does in a single night. He is also fond of music, and loves his harp as though it were his flesh and blood."

Lady Cersei's eyes drifted to a pleasant memory. "He once played a song for us at Casterly Rock; I have never heard anything as sweet or as sad in all the days since."

"Sad songs are his favourites, my lady."

She looked genuinely concerned by Richard's statement, her eyes focused as she bit down on her bottom lip. "I will make him happy," she said, more to herself than to Richard. "I will be the best queen the seven kingdoms have ever seen and I will make him smile every single day that I draw breath."

_She is like all the others,_ he realized. Countless maidens across the realm swooned over the king and his sad beauty, all of them bending over backwards just to gain the slightest of notice from him. _No man has ever been so beloved, yet their love is wasted. Rhaegar is unconcerned with everything not in his prophecy. _ He looked at Lady Cersei again, this time with a hint of pity. _Even she is only a means to an end for him._

They continued on like that, making small talk until finally the came to the lady's tent. Lady Cersei smiled at him again, her hand still on his arm. "My thanks for the walk, Ser, it was a delight. I hope I can count on your friendship when we arrive at court?"

_What little good it will do you,_ "Aye, my lady."

She gave him another smile, before reaching up to plant a small kiss on his cheek before excusing herself into the tent. Richard stood there for a few moments, trying to compose himself before turning on his heel and walking back to his own quarters. The cool night breeze was sobering and the silence helped him think. On the morrow they would be back at court, surrounded by sycophants and lickspittles and all other types of conniving opportunists ready to take advantage now that the Dornish were out of favour.

Bryce was waiting for him when he arrived back at his own tent. The squire looked tired, yet the determination to serve overrode all of his other instincts. Not for the first time Richard thought of how much a better knight the boy would be when he was older. "You may rest, lad. I'll have no use for you until the morrow when we take our leave."

The boy nodded, but couldn't help but blurt out a question. "Is it true that you were escorting Lady Cersei around the camp? Some of the others were talking about it…"

"Aye," he said as he sat down on his tiny cot. "I enjoyed lady Lannister's company."

Bryce looked impatient. "Why was she talking with you?"

"She wanted to know about the king," Richard pulled off a boot. "And she thought that by charming me, she could get in with the King's circle."

"Will she?"

Richard couldn't help but snort in laughter. "Gods no! She's beautiful I'll grant you, but I am not one to bow down to a pretty face and easy smile. We're already expected to dance to the Old Lion's tune but I'll give him no more than I have to."

"…What about the king?" the boy looked genuinely worried. "How will he feel?"

_Rhaegar will wed and bed Cersei Lannister, with or without my approval._ He did not give voice to his thoughts; Bryce did not need to be any more worried than he already was. "The king will be fine lad, now get me a skin of wine before you head off."

Bryce frowned again, this time in disappointment. "You shouldn't drink so much Ser, it's not…_chivalrous_."

"Chivalry or no you'll get me the wine or I'll give you a clout over the ear."

With a palpable reluctance the boy turned and went out to retrieve the wine, muttering to himself quietly as he did. Richard sat on the edge of his cot, looking down at his hands, lined and marred with callouses and scars with more than the fair share of blood upon them. _There'll be more yet,_ he knew. _No matter what I do, there will be blood._

Bryce returned with his wine skin and handed it over with the faintest hint of disgust. Richard took it from him with a grim nod and sent the boy to bed, leaving him alone with his thoughts. The drink was sweet on his throat, and delightfully intoxicating, yet with every mouthful he felt shamed. How had it come to this? There was a time when he had the world at his feet with the potential to help people. _Now I'm a lonely drunkard who helped start a war…._

With a final mournful thought, he took a deep swig of wine and lay back onto his cot.

* * *

Two nights later he found himself dinning with the King of Westeros in the privacy of his royal solar. Richard had asked to see the king as soon as he arrived, but between the recent attempt on his life and the influx of Lannisters at court it had taken Rhaegar time before he could address the knight. Seeing his old mentor in such an exhausted state worried Richard, and he called for wine.

"You have done well old friend," the king told him with a sad smile. "I knew I could trust you above others for discretion and loyalty. I apologize for not seeing you sooner."

Richard shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "You needn't, I fully understand the responsibilities that you have, Sire. I'm just glad that we can talk _now._"

They began with quails in honey, a saddle of lamb, goose livers drowned in wine, and suckling pig. The sight of such fine meals after weeks of food of various qualities made Richard's stomach rumble and his mouth water. He devoured the quails with as much restraint as he could muster. Rhaegar ate with the same fine grace he had in everything else he did.

"What do you think of the Lannisters?" he asked quietly whilst cutting a piece of lamb. "You must have made some opinion of them during your travels."

Richard paused mid-bite and slowly considered his next answer. He swallowed, and then spoke. "Honestly? I don't trust them, Your Grace. I believe Tywin Lannister has no true loyalty to you and hungers for a dynasty of his own."

"Tywin Lannister looks at my crown like a hound looks at its master's warm meal," Rhaegar's sad eyes focused with a sharp cunning. "Feeding him a bone is not the same as feeding him the meal."

"But….he could betray you," Richard insisted. "He has power, influence, and most of all a cold brutality to him. As soon as his daughter bares you a son he'll likely slay you and claim the throne in his grandson's name."

Rhaegar's face was blank, his purple eyes sober. "And when his daughter bares me a little Visenya I'll be sure to have _him_ removed from power," the king sat back in his seat. "Do not think me blind to the present, Richard. I have learned from Robert Baratheon's rebellion. I am using the Lannisters just as much as they think they're using me."

The knight could only sit in stunned silence. _I have clearly underestimated him;_ the thought was a relief the likes of which he hadn't felt in some time. He was quick to temper it with cold logic. _It is still a very dangerous game he is playing._ "What of…the Martells, Sire?"

Rhaegar rubbed at the scar along his throat, his eyes suddenly sadder than Richard had seen them since Lyanna Stark died. "I mean to send Ser Lewyn to the Wall, and that will be the end of it."

"But Queen Elia…"

"Elia tried to have me killed," he said with a thinly veiled swell of anger. "Most would die screaming for such a thing, but I have been merciful and sent her home. She always spoke about how much she loved those damned Water Gardens…"

Richard could see something on his mentor's face that he had never seen before: vulnerability and true pain. The sight of it oddly humanized the king. "You miss her."

His purple eyes were full of hurt as he looked up. "Of course I miss her. We did not wed for love…but I built a life with her." He gave an uneasy breath as he set his utensils down. "She is my companion, my wife, my queen and the mother of my children. How could I not love her? But that doesn't change the fact that she tried to kill me and would likely try again if given the chance."

"Your Grace," Richard tried to think of how to be gentle with his words. "I know you feel that you have been fair, and even reasonable, but the Martells will seek vengeance for this; sure as the sun will rise. They will want war."

"Aegon is my heir and their own kin,' he said dismissively. "They would not start a war that might endanger him or Rhaenys. Besides, if they were so mad as to try then I would utilize-" the sound of a chamber door opening made the king pause and look over as Princess Rhaenys barged into the room, Jaime Lannister at her heels.

"Father," the girl said with a frown as she stormed up to their table, a letter in her hand. She thrust the letter at Rhaegar who gave her a single bemused smile before taking the piece of paper, unfolding it and reading in silence for a moment before giving the smallest of frowns and setting it aside.

His disapproval was plain to see. "You interrupted my dinner with Ser Richard without the slightest hint of courtesy to show me _this?"_ His gaze went over to Ser Jaime, no less disapproving. "And I suppose you couldn't stop a ten year old girl?"

The golden knight's face flushed with shame. "I'm sorry Your Grace, but the princess said that she had vital news to share with you, and I-"

"I don't care," he said with a dismissive wave before turning back to Rhaenys. "Ask your question, we both know that's what you came here for."

Rhaenys drew herself up like a true daughter of the dragon. "Father, I wish to have your permission to accept Grandmother's invitation and visit Summerhall."

"No," he said without even a second's thought. "I would prefer you stay for my wedding with Lady Cersei. Daenerys and Viserys will be here for that, you can see them then."

The girl stood steadfast, her gaze levelled at her father. "I don't care about seeing them, I want to see _Jon._"

The silence that followed was grave. On instinct Richard downed a whole cup of wine whilst Ser Jaime stood behind the princess looking as though he would give his swordhand to be anywhere else right now. Rhaegar had gone quite pale and his purple eyes seemed to glow in the candlelight as he watched his daughter, his jaw clenched tight.

_"__Why?"_

Rhaenys pursed her lips, obviously not expecting her father's response to be so calm. "He's my brother…"

"Aegon's your brother too."

Her eyes narrowed in anger. "But I've never even _met_ Jon! Why won't you let me see him?"

Rhaegar was trembling slightly as he watched his daughter. Richard knew that underneath his icy mask the king was at war with himself, struggling to contain his emotions, rage and sorrow. He wasn't sure whether he should have felt concerned for the princess or not.

When he finally spoke, it was with a calm, yet stern voice. "He was a mistake that I cannot take back. You needn't concern yourself with him."

"What about me and Aegon?" The girl clenched her fists and glared at her father without fear, perhaps the only person in the capitol to be able to do so. "After you marry that Lannister lady will _we_ just become mistakes too? Will your new family be better than us?"

The king's eyes widened with shock and he recoiled as if he had been struck. "I….nothing will ever make stop loving you and your brother, Rhaenys. No one can replace either of you in my heart." He tried feebly to reach out to her but the girl shrugged his hand off.

"If you don't love Jon then how can I know that you truly love me?"

_I should not be here,_ Richard told himself as he watched the king's resolve shatter and a look of utmost pain cross the Targaryen's face. _He's beaten,_ Richard realised as he watched Rhaegar started to breathe heavily._He cannot or will not discuss Lyanna with his daughter, yet he's too afraid of making her hate him to refuse._

"You may go to Summerhall," he said finally in a broken voice, his face grief-stricken and wounded beyond belief.

Rhaenys' expression did not soften. "On the morrow?"

"On the morrow," he agreed sadly. "You may stay as long as you wish."

The girl gave a courtesy. "Thank you, Your Grace."

With that the princess left the room, Ser Jaime giving one last, apologetic expression before following her out. The silence that followed was worse than even the most hate-filled shouting Richard had ever heard. He reached out for the decanter of wine, only to find that he had drunken it all.


End file.
